


Time Does Not Bring Relief, Part I

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: Time Does Not Bring Relief by Kadru [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance, Series: The Redemption Project 57, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-03
Updated: 1999-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collin's past comes back to haunt Jim and Blair as two strangers arrive in Cascade determined to separate them.<br/>This story is a sequel to Loving You Less Than Life, Part III.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Time Does Not Bring Relief

By Kadru

Author's homepage: <http://www.mindspring.com/~kadru/index.html>

Disclaimers: Blair, Jim, Simon, Rafe and Naomi are all characters belonging to Pet Fly Productions and UPN. I'm only using their characters for fun, entertainment and fantasy. I repeat: no profit! Ian Yoshito, Collin McPherson, Bass Sanders, Didion Sachs and Lee Whitmore are all my creations. They are borrowed from other fictions and I will chase after you if you hurt them. As for the big band song lyrics during the chi-chi dinner party, I have no idea who wrote them, but they don't belong to me either. 

Notes: "Time" is a murder mystery. Ergo, someone dies. It's a minor character, so don't panic. If I can pull this off, you won't know who did it until the end. I make many references to the "Loving" series, so I guess it would help if you've read those. They are on my site if you haven't. I hope everyone has enough patience with me while I finish the next two segments. This is major experimentation for me! Be gentle!!! 

As for some background information: There are many references to the serial bombings in Atlanta and Birmingham. The first bomb occurred in Centennial Park in Atlanta during the Olympics. The FBI accused Richard Jewell and then later retracted it; Mr. Jewell sued everything that moved and he and his family are now independently wealthy. A second bomb exploded outside of an abortion clinic in Buckhead, then a third outside of a gay bar in Midtown. The last bomb struck an abortion clinic in Birmingham, Alabama. 

Huge thank you's to my beta's: Rie and Russ, without whom this would be a nasty ole mess! 

Time wise -- this takes place before Megan Connor joins the force. 

Summary: Collin's past comes back to haunt Jim and Blair as two strangers arrive in Cascade determined to separate them. 

Warnings: extreme violence, extreme language, and some dirty parts thrown in. Major angst factor. 

* * *

Time Does Not Bring Relief -- part one  
By Kadru 

"Hold my hand," Blair whispered to Jim as they walked together down the dark, empty street. The night rain had stopped, and puddles reflected ribbons of blue and orange against the road and buildings. 

Jim hesitated. "I . . . It's probably not a good idea, Chief. Somebody might see us." 

Blair held out his hand. "Oh, come on. There's, like, no one _out_ here to see us. It's too late at night." 

But Jim shied away from his touch, keeping his hands in his pockets. Not fighting it, Blair took a deep breath, smelling the fresh scent of rain and feeling the dampness around him. "It's so warm tonight," he said, spinning around slowly. "It reminds me of when I lived in New Orleans." 

"I didn't know you lived there." 

"When I was a kid, we stayed there for a while, until one summer it got _so_ hot and we couldn't stand it any more. We were renting this old mansion in the Garden District dirt cheap. The walls were falling down and there was mold everywhere, but gods, I loved it there. We had this great porch, and gardenias bloomed in the backyard and huge magnolias. But the rain, man, the rain was like so cool. Not like it is here. Great big raindrops with thunder. . . and it was warm. We would . . ." Blair started laughing. "We would run outside, Naomi and I, and we would dance in the rain together." He looked over at Jim. 

Jim apparently didn't hear him. Instead, he scanned the street, sniffing the wind. 

"Hey, Jim, what's up with you, man?" 

Jim said nothing. 

"Hello? Jim? I'm like talking to you, here." 

He held up his hand to silence his guide. 

"What? What is it?" 

"Something . . . something's wrong, Chief." 

The gurgling snarl behind Blair made the young man's stomach hurt from fear. Snapping around, Blair saw a large black dog, as high as his waist, materialize from the darkness. He couldn't recognize the breed as it circled him, separating him from Jim. It had the sharp snout of a doberman but the heavy body of a mastiff. In the dim light, Blair could see the sharp white teeth and the reflection of the street lamps in its eyes. "Jim?" 

But Jim was backing away from it with his hands held up defensively. 

"Jim!" 

Suddenly the animal leapt at Blair, knocking him to the wet asphalt. It growled once, and Blair watched helplessly as it opened its jaws and lunged for his throat. The pain burned as each canine punctured his skin, but the sudden jerk at his adam's apple stopped his heart. His breath was snatched away. He sucked in desperately for air, and the sickening sensation of hot wetness flooded his lungs. Blair screamed, but all he could hear was the thick bubble of blood. 

* * *

Blair jerked straight up. Darkness surrounded him. He felt hands grip his shoulders and he shouted. 

"Whoa, calm down," a soft voice spoke. 

"You left me!" 

The room fell silent before the hand tried again. "It was just a dream, Chief." 

"You . . . left me." 

Jim pulled him close, sighing with defeat. These nighmares had been torturing Blair for weeks now, and each time he woke up, he had accused Jim of leaving him. By the third night of such accusations, Jim's own personal demons had begun to haunt him. /I don't understand what's going on. Every night it's the same. What . . . what am I doing wrong?/ Jim rubbed his lover's back. "Blair, honey, it was just a dream. I wouldn't do that to you." Yet even as he said it, Jim felt as if he had just lied. In truth, he worried about it constantly. /Can he sense it?/ Jim had left his first lover when he feared he was putting them both in danger. Now, every day he entered the station with the secret of their new relationship shadowing him, he felt that same anxiety. Sometimes he wondered if the fear that he would leave Blair was becoming greater than the fear that Blair would get hurt. "Come on. Lie back down. I've got you." 

He kissed Blair on the neck, and Blair instantly squirmed free. 

"Sorry," Jim muttered. "It that where it got you this time?" In the darkness, he could see Blair nod and wipe his face. The room stank with his fear. Each night it was the same, and now Jim didn't even ask what the nightmare was about. "Blair?" Jim began as he nestled close again. "I promise you, on everything holy . . . if I ever see a huge black dog even think about coming near you, I'm going to blow his fucking head off and ask questions later." 

Blair broke into a nervous laugh. 

"I'm serious." 

Blair sensed the viciousness in his voice. "Damn, Jim, which of us are they going to commit first? Me? Or you for killing half the dogs in Cascade?" After a long silence, Blair snuggled back into his embrace and said, "Jim, did I ever tell you about the time I lived in New Orleans?" 

And Jim replied softly, "No. Tell me about it." As Blair talked, Jim drew circles on the younger man's skin with his fingertip. 

* * *

The next day was a lazy September Saturday. Jim had hassled Blair about chores all morning. In a way, it relaxed Blair a little to hear Jim bark out his house rules like old times, underscoring for them both that even though they now shared the same bed, nothing had really changed between them. After a quick lunch of sandwiches, Blair started on a recipe another grad student had given him for soup which took most of the afternoon to cook. 

Jim stared at the stack of vegetables piled on the island. "How much soup are you planning to make there, Chief?" 

"Enough to last us for a while. Recipe says it freezes well." For at least half an hour, there was no communication in the loft as Blair chopped vegetables. 

Then, even with his normal hearing and even with the sounds of Jim's Steely Dan cd playing, Blair clearly heard Jim's "God damnit!" coming from the balcony. Trying not to laugh, Blair covered the pot of soup and turned down the heat. He stepped over to the doorway of the balcony with his lips pressed tight to keep from smiling. 

Jim sat with his back against the window and a large, round terracotta pot at his feet. Black potting soil speckled his hands, but Jim still pressed his fingers to his forehead, leaving dark stripes on his face. His other hand, propped on his knee, held a dirty trowel. Coming around, Blair sat on his heels in front of him, said nothing, but waited for Jim's jaw muscles to unclench. After a while, Jim tossed the trowel to the side in frustration. Again, not saying anything, Blair simply raised one eyebrow in a question. Jim sighed, then mumbled, "It doesn't look like it does in the book." He pointed to the picture of evergreens and ivy spilling from a moss-greened pot. 

Blair smiled. "Jim, don't. You know the plants in that book are old. They've probably been in that pot for years. You can't make it look like that in one day." Picking up the trowel, Blair carefully removed the dwarf conifer and ivy from the pot and set them aside. He moved in closer so that the large pot sat between them, their legs surrounding it. Scanning the book quickly, Blair asked, "Did you put gravel in the bottom?" 

"Yes," Jim answered defensively, but Blair didn't let that bother him. He read on. 

"Did you put the slow-release fertilizer in?" 

Jim rolled his eyes. "Damnit. See, I forgot that. How am I supposed to do this? Why is it supposed to help?" 

Calmly, Blair answered, "Because gardening is a form of prayer and meditation." He reached for the small bag of fertilizer pellets. "You take slow movements, and you keep your breathing even." He poured the fertilizer into the soil, then reached for Jim's hands. The moist soil felt gritty against Jim's warm skin, and Blair smiled, his blue eyes sweet and gentle. Seeing this, Jim began to relax the muscles in his jaw. Blair twined their fingers together until their knuckles locked, and together their hands dipped into the soft earth, folding the fertilizer into it. The erotic feel of Blair's fingers mixing with the soil calmed Jim even more, and he felt a little cheated when the fertilizer was thoroughly blended and Blair pulled away. "Now, the ivy goes on the outside." Blair scooped out a place, and Jim dropped the plant into the hole. Together, they smoothed the soil flat around it. They continued, planting the rest of the ivy, then started on the dwarf conifer for the center of the pot. Once the job was done, both of their hands were dark and muddy. 

Blair reached out and cupped Jim's face, smearing it with dirt. Smiling, Jim reached out and did the same, pulling Blair over the pot and kissing him, their lips teasing each other, then their soft tongues entered each other's mouths. After a moment of this tender affection, Blair whispered, "Better?" 

"Better." He kissed him again. 

"I hate to do this, but I've got a lot of soup to make." Blair looked over his shoulder at the rows of terracotta pots that lined the balcony. Jim didn't have a lot of time to garden this year because they had started too late. For that reason, Blair had convinced him to grow herbs instead. He kissed Jim again. "And we still have a dinner party to go to." 

When Blair tried to stand, Jim pulled him back down. Taking another kiss, he said, "Thank you." 

Blair traced a dirty finger along Jim's jaw. "Now don't get all mushy on me, tough guy. When you're done, how about cutting me some fresh basil and oregano?" 

"Yes sir." 

* * *

While Ian worked in the kitchen, Collin knelt in front of the cd player, his long auburn hair falling into his face. The weather had yet to turn chilly, but they had placed rows of lit candles in the fireplace. As Collin flipped through cd after cd, he couldn't help but snicker to himself. /Ian just can't _not_ buy a cd./ Just then, the intercom by the front door buzzed. 

Ian crossed from his kitchen, past the dining room and towards the door, wiping his hands with a dish towel as he went. Collin watched him from the sunken lounge, admiring the tall, lean body of his Japanese lover. They had started dating when Ian had returned from Europe, three months before. Blair had introduced them. Now, as he watched Ian standing at the intercom in his tight, faded jeans and flannel shirt, he thought, /Thank god Blair got distracted and left him behind./ Then he noticed, as he usually did, Ian's shirt-sleeves buttoned at the wrist and hiding the scars. /He still won't talk to me about it./ That clawed at Collin's sense of security a little. /He doesn't trust me. Or maybe he doesn't want to scare me./ Then Collin sighed. /Have you told him anything about your past, yet?/ He always asked himself that question whenever he felt bad about Ian's secrecy. /No, you haven't. So cut him some slack. Besides, he's always so positive and up-beat. He's not depressed or anything. He just doesn't want to think about bad times. You should at least sympathize with that./ 

Ian's thick British accent broke Collin's train of thought. "No, I'll be right down," he said to the doorman. "Have them wait for me. I need to pick up the mail anyway." He looked over at Collin. "I'll be back in a second." 

/You always are,/ Collin thought with a smile. /You always are./ The door closed and he returned to looking through the cd's. /Will you be, Collin? Will you always be back?/ Collin tried to shake the thoughts. He knew Ian scared the hell out of him, and he was trying to deal with it. Blair was just being kind when he introduced him to Ian -- Collin had never even told Blair about his past. And then Ian had pursued him, hard -- with all the flowers and poems and simple considerations that Collin had always wanted in a romance. Before he had realized what was happening, he had fallen for Ian with an intensity he hadn't known since his life in Atlanta. 

Collin dropped a cd as if it had burned his fingers and he stood up quickly, shaking his hands. /God damnit, Coll, that was almost three years ago! Get a grip on yourself. Ian's a good guy and he's obviously in love with you. Accept what happened in Atlanta as a mistake and learn from it!/ He stood motionless, breathing deep to calm himself. /Now, Jim and Blair will be up here any second, so calm down./ 

He crossed to the kitchen and pulled out two beers from the refrigerator for when they walked in. 

The door opened almost immediately, and he watched the three men as they came in, laughing. Blair waved from the doorway and immediately walked towards the kitchen. He had pulled his hair back into a ponytail, which made Collin smile. /He told me once he likes to do that when he wants to look 'dressed up.'/ He wore a sweater over a flannel shirt. "Feeling cold already?" Collin asked with a soft drawl as he handed him an opened beer. 

Blair reached out for Collin's arm and tugged at the sleeve of his own sweater. "You're one to talk." 

"But I'm a hot-house flower. What's your excuse? Here, I've got a beer ready for you, Jim." He pointed to the bottle on the counter when Jim entered the kitchen. 

Jim smiled. "Now this, Chief, is a host." 

Collin smirked, then added, "I would hope my ancestors would be proud. You're both late." 

Jim replied, "We would have been here on time if we hadn't been stuck behind all those southerners who moved up here, driving like they were back in South Carolina." Jim reached for his beer. 

But Collin casually pulled the beer away from his reach and took a deep swallow from it, staring at the detective as he did so with one eyebrow arched. Then he set the beer out of reach. Jim looked at him with a confused expression. "You were saying?" Collin asked. 

Jim stood motionless with his hand still outstretched and his mouth open. Laughing, Blair handed Jim his own beer. "Gods, Jim, when are you going to learn to never make fun of the man with the beer?" 

Smiling, Collin reached into the refrigerator and pulled out another beer for Blair. "Leave him alone, Blair. I'll turn Jim into a smart ass, yet." 

"He doesn't need your help," Blair said. "Trust me on this." 

"I thought you guys hadn't moved in together yet," Jim commented. 

"No, not yet." 

Ian stepped into the kitchen, kissed Collin on the cheek, just above his short beard, and said, "Be a good host and get these fellows out of my kitchen." 

"You heard the man," Collin said immediately, waving his hands. "Move 'em out!" 

"Oh, Coll," Ian interrupted, "something arrived for you in the post." 

"Mail? Here?" 

Ian just nodded with a smile. 

"How did anyone know to send it here?" 

"I don't know." 

After a pause, Collin added in a whisper, "Ian, I hope you don't think I gave someone this address." 

Ian looked at him for a moment, trying to guess his motives. "That doesn't bother me." 

"I know. I just didn't want you to think I was doing that behind your back." 

Ian placed his hand against Collin's jaw, then kissed him on the lips. "You said you wanted us to date for a year before we talked about moving in together. And I think that's a good idea. Besides, I know you love me, and I love you, too. We talk to each other several times a day and we spend most of our time together. Think of this letter as a good omen. Now, go on. Jim and Blair are sitting by themselves." 

Collin smiled, but Ian couldn't know about the subtle feeling of pain in Collin's chest. He kissed Ian, deeply, then walked to the counter to see this letter. Once he read the return address, he relaxed a little. "Oh I get it," he said. 

"What?" Ian asked. 

"It's from my cousin. He's always showing off. I told him we were seeing each other, so he must have tracked down your address and sent something to me here." Even so, Collin was a little mistrustful. /Just what the hell are you up to, cousin?/ He opened the letter and began to read. Suddenly, he folded the letter and stuffed it as quickly as he could back into the envelope. He pushed the letter into his back pocket, forced a polite smile, then stepped toward the sofa where Jim and Blair sat. But Ian saw the reaction and had to repress the urge to say something. 

* * *

Later that night, after dinner while everyone was drinking coffee, Jim leaned over the table towards Ian and asked, "Now, tell me again why I have to go to this party next weekend?" Jim toyed with the engraved, ivory-colored invitation. 

"Jim," Blair warned. 

Ian just smiled. "You don't _have_ to go, Jim. I just thought it would be a good idea if you went." 

"So do I," Blair added. 

"Eric and Carl's parties are infamous and very hard to get into. They have very strict rules as to who can be invited." 

Jim looked at the invitation. "Why does it say, 'Family members only'?" 

Then Collin laughed. "Oh, come on, Jim. Surely you've heard of 'family'." 

"Yeah, I have, and it usually involves organized crime." 

Blair touched his arm. "It means 'gay'." 

"But we aren't--" Jim stopped when Blair arched his eyebrow. "Well? Are we?" 

"We aren't the media's stereotype, that's for sure. But I think sleeping together every night pretty much makes us 'members of the family'." 

"Fine. Do we still have to go to this?" 

"Jim," Ian broke in, "you would be surprised who will be there. There will be many people from city hall. I know you'll recognize some of the guests there. As I said, Eric and Carl have very strict rules. Those of us who receive invitations can only invite other gays or lesbians, and they need to be involved in improving the community. I think that means you and Blair. It's more networking than anything else. And it's a chance for us to be who we are in a protected environment." 

"Jim," Blair said, "all that aside. _I_ want to go." 

"Fine. I'll go. But just how semi-formal is 'semi-formal'?" 

Ian answered, "Coat and tie." 

"Oh, come on! You want me to wear a coat and tie on a Saturday night?!" 

All three of them answered at once, "Yes!" 

"All right! All right!" 

Collin slipped away. Ian saw him leave, and he pulled at Blair's elbow. "Will you check on Collin for me?" 

"Is something up?" 

"I think that letter upset him for some reason." 

Blair stepped out onto the balcony and moved to Collin's side. The wind whipped Collin's hair across his face, and he had to drag it back with his hand. "Is it too cold for you, Blair?" 

"Not yet. What about you?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Why are you out here?" 

Collin shrugged his shoulders. He pointed to the city lights. "Just reminding myself why I moved out here." 

"Why?" 

"Don't know, really. Something about this place . . . spoke to me. The dark water. The mountains." He laughed softly. "Do you know, when I first landed in Seattle however many years ago, I saw the Cascades and thought the snow on them were clouds. I embarrassed myself by saying, 'Those clouds haven't moved all day.'" He sighed. "You know, I could drive for two hours and still not make it to Mount Rainier. That's just . . . remarkable." 

"Hmm," Blair muttered, then asked, "So why tonight? Why do you need reminding?" With obvious gestures, he looked down at the letter stuffing Collin's back pocket. 

Collin twisted slightly to see the letter, too. "That's a letter from my cousin Bass." 

"Bass?" 

"Short for Sebastian." 

"Why did it upset you?" 

"Upset? Oh, I'm not upset." 

"Yes you are." 

"No, I love Bass to death. He and I went to school together." He added with excitement, "The thought of Bass and I living in the same city again . . ." Then he became quiet, thinking back to older times. "Well, maybe I am a little down." 

"Wanna talk about it?" 

"It's nothing. Bass is a really great guy. You'll love him. He has a degree in philosophy and a mind like a steel trap. It's just . . ." 

"It's just what?" 

"His goddamn ogre of a fucking boyfriend," Collin snapped. "I hate that son of a bitch. He just makes my skin crawl. He keeps Bass down, has so totally ruined his self-esteem. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he still hits Bass." He looked at Blair. "He's . . . he's one of the reasons I moved here." 

"Shit, man. Is he . . ." 

"Is he moving, too? Yes. The man's a fucking psychopath, that's for sure, but what makes it worse is that he's an incredibly rich fucking psychopath. He inherited this pharmaceutical company that only sells drugs to the Army. He moves around, taking all these fabulous public jobs. Bass says that he's moving here to be a member of the board of directors at Cascade General. Can you believe that? I haven't told Ian about all this yet. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Anyway, Bass wants me to pick him up at the airport next week." 

"You want me to go with you?" 

"If you want. I wouldn't force you. He decided to fly into Seattle instead of Cascade. Would the drive bother you?" 

"Of course not. So, like, why did he send the letter to you here?" 

"Hell if I know. But I'm going to nail that one the minute he steps off the plane." 

* * *

At the Sea-Tac airport, Blair stood by the Babbling Brook fountain. It was a normal water fountain, near the restrooms, but each time he pressed the button to make the water flow, a recording of a babbling creek would play. It always made him giggle. Slowly, Collin reached for his hand. "Blair, _honey_ , do not abuse the public art." 

"Sorry, this thing always cracks me up." 

Looking back at the gate, Collin sighed with relief when he noticed passengers walking through. "Thank god! It took them long enough to open up the plane." They moved closer, then Collin pointed. "That's him. In the black turtleneck." 

Seeing him, Blair raised one eyebrow. Sebastian stood only a few inches taller than Collin but with the same lean build. Thick black hair fell to his shoulders in waves, so black that the fluorescent lights gave it blue highlights. A tight black goatee covered his chin and upper lip. His skin was deeply tanned. Over his black turtleneck, he wore a heavy brown corduroy sports coat that accented his broad shoulders. He scanned the crowd with narrow black eyes like a hungry cat, but the moment he saw Collin, he dropped his bags and ran to him. He gathered Collin into a swift hug, and they almost fell over from the momentum. 

/He sure is animated for someone with no self-esteem,/ Blair thought as he left them to pick up Sebastian's abandoned bags, and when he returned, they were still laughing and hugging. "Collin, Collin, Collin, I've missed you!" He turned when he saw Blair standing with his bags. 

"Here," Blair offered. "You . . . uh . . . left these." 

"Why, thank you. Are you . . . Ian?" Sebastian had the same lowland lilt that Collin had, only Blair recognized a harder edge to his. 

"No," Collin interrupted. "This is Blair Sandburg. Blair, this is my cousin, Bass Sanders." 

Blair reached out to shake his hand. "Pleased to meet you." 

Sebastian looked around at the airport. "Oh my god, I'm in Seattle! I'm in Seattle!" He looked at Collin with a begging face. "We don't have to run back to Cascade now, do we?" He then turned to Blair. "Please?" 

Blair laughed. "No problem. I can call Jim and tell him I won't be at the station today." 

"Jim?" Sebastian asked. 

"He's my partner." 

"Blair's a cop," Collin whispered into Sebastian's ear. 

"Get out!" 

"No, I'm not a cop." 

"Blair's getting his Ph.D. in anthropology at Rainier," Collin said while pulling Bass toward baggage claim. "His dissertation is on closed societies, so he's riding with Jim for research." 

"Y'all don't mind, do ya? Oh, it's been _years_ since I was last in Seattle. I want to run by the market if I could." Then he turned to Collin. "And I want to see the Pink Elephant, too! And then go by Volunteer Park. Oh, and see the university district. If we hurry, we can stop off and have lunch at this great sushi bar there that's right next to a fabulous bookstore." Then he said to Blair with a wicked smile, "It has these fish tanks near each table so these little fish are watching you eat their relatives!" 

Once in the car, Collin asked. "So . . . where's the evil one?" From the back seat, Blair watched for Sebastian's reaction. 

He took a deep breath before answering. "Collin, I've been with Didion now for almost three years. I love him, and I love you. And I wish you wouldn't keep putting me in such an awkward position." 

"Bass, he's a monster--" 

"He is not a monster," he answered patiently. "He treats me very well." 

"He's playing head games with you." 

"Granted, yes, Didion likes to play head games. I won't argue with you on that. But we don't with each other." Sebastian glanced at Blair in the back seat. "Let's talk about this later, okay?" 

Collin looked into the rear view mirror at Blair's reflection. "Sorry about that, Blair." 

"Hey, don't mind me," Blair replied easily. "I'm just along for the ride." 

The car finally pulled onto the interstate, and Sebastian sighed heavily. "There she is." He pointed to Mount Rainier. "There's my baby." 

"If you love this place so much, why has it taken you this long to come out here?" Collin asked. 

"Didion and I move too often. It wasn't easy getting him out of Santa Barbara, but I finally talked him into moving." 

"Is he here already?" 

"Yeah. He got to Cascade several weeks ago. He found us a house overlooking Puget Sound." 

Collin gave a fake shudder. "Oh, to think that gorgon's been in Cascade and I didn't even know it." 

"Enough, Collin," Sebastian snapped. Then he turned to Blair. "So, tell me, Blair. What's Cascade like?" 

"Cold." 

"That was my reaction to Chicago." 

"Where have you lived?" Blair asked. 

"When Didion and I first got together," he paused to look at Collin, then continued, "we moved to New Orleans. We had a great apartment over a shop in the French Quarter, but Bourbon Street was too loud and crowded, so we bought a house in the Garden District. We spent the winter in Chicago and I hated it. So we moved to Manhattan. Had a great apartment, there, and I loved it." 

"What made you move?" 

"Didion and I went to Santa Barbara one weekend, and we liked it a lot. Then for some reason Didion wanted to move to Ohio." 

"Where in Ohio?" Collin inquired. 

"I didn't ask. Somewhere near the capital." 

"What is the capital of Ohio, anyway?" Collin asked. 

"Oh, who knows." 

"Yeah. Yankees, anyway," Collin teased. 

"For real. My knowledge of geography stops with the rude states. So where are you from, Blair?" 

"Ohio." 

"Oh shit. Man, I am so sorry. I was just trying to make a joke." 

"I'm kidding. I'm from all over. My mother moved almost every year." 

"Well, I think I can relate after living with Didion. Always on the run." 

* * *

Back in Cascade, just as the sun was setting, the three of them followed the directions Sebastian had with him and found his new home. Blair whistled when he saw the large modernistic mansion on a cliff overlooking Cascade. Sebastian didn't seem phased by it. "Oh, look, my car made it here." Blair noticed the blue BMW convertible. 

"What happened to your black Miata?" 

"Moving up in the world, cuz." As Collin and Blair helped him with his bags, Sebastian offered, "Hey, would y'all like to come in for a drink?" 

Collin answered before Blair could accept, "I need to be getting Blair back home." 

Sebastian looked honestly crushed, but he forced a smile before holding out his hand to Blair. "I hope to see you again." 

"I do, too. Later, Bass." Confused, Blair eyed Collin as they got back in his car. "I didn't have to go, you know." 

Collin pointed to a gold Mercedes. " _That_ has to be Didion's car." 

"Didion? The monster?" 

"I'm sorry, Blair. I just can't handle him yet." 

* * *

After watching Collin drive away, Sebastian sighed, then brushed his hand nervously through his black hair. Once inside, he took one look at the interior of his new home. The walls were lined with polished redwood and hung with Greek and Roman friezes. The floor was rough almond slate. "Didion?" he said in a soft voice. "Where are you?" 

He heard his lover's shout, "I'm back here -- in the office." Sebastian followed his voice towards the back of the house. Noticing a set of French doors halfway ajar, he pushed them open and stepped inside. His lover sat at his desk, and behind him stretched a wide expanse of windows overlooking the city, the bay and the ring of the Olympics. The setting sun bathed the room with a rosy glow, making his tanned skin even darker while his curly brown hair sparkled with blond highlights. His white shirt lay on the polished black marble desktop, and Sebastian allowed himself to admire his well-defined chest darkened with brown hair. "I missed you," Didion said, and Sebastian smiled. Didion took a deep breath. "And I missed the smell of your pheromones." 

Then Didion returned to tightening the rubber tubing around his left arm. 

"You should be more careful. What if Collin had come in with me?" 

Didion prepared the needle. "I heard your heartbeat when you opened the door. I knew it was just you." Just as he was about to insert the needle into a vein, he saw Sebastian cross his arms and look down at the floor. 

"I hate it when you do that," Sebastian said with a shiver. 

"I know, baby," he replied softly. "But it's something I have to do." He shot the amber serum into his arm. "If I didn't, I'd get cancer and die. Just like the rest of them." Didion rubbed his arm briskly then put away the needle and tubing. "There, it's done. You can look now." Sebastian stopped staring at the floor. Didion held out his strong hand to him. "Come here." Sebastian stepped closer, took Didion's hand, and allowed his lover to maneuver him to sit on the desk. With a heavy sigh, Didion wrapped his arms around Sebastian's waist and pressed his face against the younger man's stomach. "I'm sorry, baby, for what it's worth." 

Sebastian ran his fingers through Didion's curly brown hair. "You don't have to apologize." 

"Sometimes I feel like I do. I hate dragging you through all this. I made you leave all of your friends behind. And your family. Collin still hates me, doesn't he?" 

"He's just over-protective." 

Didion looked up, and Sebastian peered down into his sweet blue eyes. "I know how he feels, Bass. If anything ever happened to you . . ." He drifted in the sensation of Sebastian's hearbeat before asking, "Did Collin get the letter you sent to Yoshito's address?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh. Then I guess the project was right. Collin is connected to him now." 

Sebastian noticed the files on Didion's desk. "Is that our target?" 

Didion sat back in the heavy leather chair and stroked his chin. "Yes." He watched as Sebastian opened the first file. 

"James Ellison. . . . . Another cop, huh? Oh well, they always are." 

"This one's different," Didion said. 

"How so?" 

"This one's a natural." 

"Like the one in Atlanta?" 

Didion nodded. "And a lot more powerful." 

Sebastian exhaled. "Oh boy." 

"Yeah, I know. We've got to take this one slow." 

Pointing to the second file, Sebastian asked, "Is this his partner?" Again, Didion only nodded. Once Sebastian read the name, he huffed a quick laugh. "Looks like things just got easier." 

"How so?" 

"Blair Sandburg just so happens to be Collin's best friend. Blair came with him to pick me up. I've already met him. I even invited him inside for a drink, and he almost took me up on it but I think Collin didn't." 

"Because of me, huh?" Didion leaned forward, grabbed Sebastian's hand and kissed his knuckles. "Do you really think this is going to make it easier for us? I . . . they knew Collin was Blair's friend. His file says he teaches at Rainier with your cousin. Blair is his connection to Yoshito. But can you do it again? To someone Collin knows." 

Sebastian crossed his arms on his chest. "I'll be fine." 

Didion immediately stood up and wrapped his arms around him. "No you won't. You'll do this for me and then you'll fall apart like you did last time, and I'll have to be the one to pick up the pieces, again." 

Sebastian kissed his cheek. "But you did such a good job of it last time." 

"Don't joke about this, Bass. We're here because of your connection to Collin. He's dating Dr. Yoshito now, and we can get to Jim and Blair through them. We're probably the only ones who can get so close to them and so quickly. So don't joke about this. If it hadn't been for your connection with Collin, another operative would have been assigned to this job. This fell into our laps through dumb luck and coincidence, but this is still going to be some major trauma." 

"Sometimes, making a joke helps get me through it, babe. So what's the plan? Standard divide and conquer?" 

"For the most part. We're at a disadvantage here. For one, Jim Ellison is a natural, which means his senses won't be getting weaker any time soon. And, two, did you see what Blair Sandburg is researching?" 

Sebastian opened the file again. "Wait. Collin said he was doing his dissertation on closed societies." 

"That's what's on record with the police when he was approved for observer status. But the project has reason to believe that he's researching the historical sentinel. They think Sandburg has convinced Ellison to work with one of the ancient paradigms. These guys know who they are, what they are, and what their relationship between each other is. Most of our targets have no idea, and they're just working on instinct. These guys are full conscious-competents. Looking over Ellison's record, and the times it mentions Sandburg, this cop has a real handle on his skills, and Sandburg is acting like an ancient guide." 

"So what do we do?" 

"First thing -- we need a copy of Sandburg's research. A rough-draft of his dissertation would be perfect. See just what sort of paradigm they're working under." 

Sebastian replied, "If Ellison is following the same pattern as all the others, then there's sure to be some sort of spiritual element involved. Sandburg's an anthropologist, so there's no telling what sort of tribal animist religious element he's using to focus Ellison." 

"Well, that's your forte. Once we have some idea of Ellison's weaknesses, then we can map out a strategy." 

"And then?" 

"Then we have to get them separated. Who knows? Maybe with these guys being an 'ancient sentinel and guide,' Ellison may freak out all the more." Didion traced Sebastian's goatee with his finger. "I know I would if someone made me separate from you. And I'm not even a real sentinel." He kissed him. "So once we get them separated, and Ellison starts to feel the effects, then it's just like all the other times. Standard procedure." 

* * *

As they walked down the darkened street, Jim adjusted his tie and muttered, "I'm still hating this." Blair pulled his hand away but didn't say anything. They had already had this argument too many times today, and he wasn't in the mood to start it again. Following Ian and Collin, Blair paused for a moment to look up at the tall skyscraper they were about to enter. The night was fairly warm for September, and a slight breeze scattered scraps of paper across the sidewalk. Jim didn't seem to notice Blair falling behind. 

Collin stepped back to take Blair's arm. "Come on." 

Just as he did, they heard a gruff voice behind them. "Well, look, if it isn't another couple of faggots." Collin's back stiffened, and Blair instantly recognized the angry spark in his eyes. 

"Ignore it," Blair said, his current nightmares of darkened streets making him nervous. "Let's go." 

But Collin spun around and faced the stranger who stood in the shadows, away from the street lights. He was much taller than Collin, bulky and stout with long black hair. "What did you say to me?" 

"I said you were a faggot," the larger man taunted. "What are--" 

"Do you think you can intimidate me, you fat fuck?" 

"I can kick your scrawny ass, you fairy!" He moved in closer, trying to force Collin to back down. 

It didn't work. "Hit me. Just try it. The minute you even touch me, I'm calling the cops and having you arrested. Don't think I won't." 

"You'd call the cops? What? Can't stand up for yourself?" 

"This _is_ standing up for myself. You can't keep me in the closet. Not only do I have the right, but I have the strength to be who I am." 

The large stranger shoved Collin hard. "Where's your fucking cop now?" 

Jim instantly materialized at Collin's side with his badge drawn. He flashed the metal in the attacker's face and whispered, "Is there a problem here?" He quickly listened for Collin's heartbeat. Steady but strong. Then he checked the large stranger. His was beating fiercely and he smelled strongly of fear. Jim pressed his advantage. "Didn't I just see you assault this man?" 

"I . . ." 

"Listen to me." Jim pressed his face into the man's personal space. "I'm having to go to a party where I have to wear a goddamn tie. Just push your luck. Give me an excuse to haul your ass into the station so I won't have to go to this." 

The stranger continued to stutter, "I . . . I . . ." 

"Apologize to this man." 

"Do what?" 

"Apologize. Do it now or so help me God I'm taking you in." 

"Fine! Fine! I apologize. I apologize." 

Collin pulled Jim aside and replied to the stranger, "On behalf of all the gay and lesbian--" 

"Enough, Collin." Jim interrupted. "Save it for somebody better." Then he glared at the stranger. "As for you, if anything ever happens to this man, I'm coming after you first. I personally don't give a shit what you think about straights, gays or any of that crap, but we have laws in this city and you will abide by them. Is that understood?" 

"Yes sir." 

"And another thing. I don't forget a face. So if _you_ ever see me again, cross the street." Jim turned his back on the man, dragging Collin by the elbow. "Damnit, Collin, when it comes to trouble, you're as bad as Blair." 

Ian and Blair were waiting for them at front of the building. "Are you okay?" Ian asked. 

"Oh, I've never felt better, "Collin answered as he linked his arm with Ian's. 

Jim leaned in to whisper to Blair, "He's not kidding." 

"You bloody live for this kind of confrontation, don't you?" Ian challenged him angrily as he held open the ornate glass door leading into the lobby. 

"Yes, Ian, I do. Somebody has to stand up to people like that. And don't be so high and mighty. I know you were just as confrontational when you were a punk in London." 

"I know, but . . ." 

Collin stopped him in the lobby. "But what?" 

"It's a lot harder to watch someone you love put himself in harm's way just for a cause." 

"Ian, if we--" 

"No, Collin. I know the reasons. I know how important it is for everyone as a whole, but what the bloody hell do I care if every gay man is free if I'm left behind to tend to your bloody tombstone?" 

No one said anything further as they rode the elevator in silence to the penthouse. Jim's mind couldn't stop thinking about the incident. He had to admit that he admired Collin's quick bravado, but Ian's words made more sense to him. /That could be Blair one day./ 

* * *

The minute Jim walked inside the penthouse, he rolled his eyes. Ian had explained his connection with Eric and Carl before they came over. People called them "the twins," because Eric and Carl had met in med school many years ago and they had been together since. Their penthouse parties were infamous for their ostentation, and this one tonight was no exception. The theme for the night was World War II. Waiters wearing army dress uniforms strolled around the guests with trays of champagne and food. The large penthouse was already packed with people, dressed in suits and evening gowns so expensive that Jim actually felt uncomfortable with what he had on. 

In the far corner of the room, a small "big-band" had been set up -- a piano, double-bass, a few horns -- and a young blonde sat on the piano, her long legs crossed under the hem of her blue-sequined gown. 

[out of the tree of life I just picked me a plum] [you came along and everything started to hum] [still it's a real good fact the best is yet to come] 

"I need a beer," Jim whispered to Blair, "and fast." 

"Can't. You're my designated driver." 

"I can give you the keys." 

"No dice. Look, Jim, this party is like so not me. I plan on getting a good buzz to get through this." 

"If you're so miserable, then why are we here?" 

"I had no idea it was going to be like this. But now we're so stuck here." 

"Fine. Let's take a taxi home." 

"You won't hear an argument from me." 

[the best is yet to come] [and babe won't it be fine?] [the best is yet to come] [come the day you're mine] 

Ian pulled Jim by the arm. "Come here," he said with a little impatience. "It's bloody time you started meeting people." He dragged Jim in front of someone and stepped back. 

Jim paled as he recognised the young man in front of him -- handsome, ebony skin, goatee, diamond stud earring, his long black hair tied in thin braids. He was also the assistant district attorney. 

"Bailey?" 

"Jim?" 

"Bailey, I . . I . . I," Jim stuttered, unsure of what to say. 

Bailey held up his finger. "Hold on a second, Jim." He ducked into the crowd, and came back with a tall, muscular blond. "Jim, I want you to meet my partner, Sam. Sam, this is Detective Jim Ellison. We work together." 

"Wow! Detective!" Sam reached his hand out to shake Jim's. "That has to be tough, man!" 

Jim was speechless. Bailey spotted Blair. "Hey, Blair!" Then he looked at Jim. "Oh! I didn't know you two were together. Man, _that's_ gotta be tough. I thought Sam and I had it rough. Sam, this is Blair Sandburg. He's Jim's partner on the force." 

"Are you two . . . together?" 

"Yes," Blair answered. 

[wait till your charms are right for these arms to surround you] [you think you flown before] [but you ain't left the ground] [wait till you're locked in my embrace] [wait till I draw you near] [wait till you've seen that sunshine place] [ain't nothing like it here] 

Collin tugged at Blair's tweed jacket. "Come here. I want you to meet someone." Collin pulled Blair toward an older woman in a navy suit. Blair recognized her instantly. "Chancellor Griffith!" 

"Hello, Blair." She smiled. "Have you met my partner, Elleanore?" 

"N-n-no." 

[out of ] [the tree] [of life] [I just] [picked me] [a plum] 

* * *

An hour later, both Jim and Blair were feeling more comfortable. "Do I get a dance out of you, big guy?" Blair asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

"Don't push your luck." 

Collin looked up and his eyes grew wide. "Well, I'll be damned." 

"What?" Blair asked. 

"Over there." He pointed, and everyone turned toward the entrance. "Those two who just walked in." Then he said to Ian, "The guy with the black hair and goatee is my cousin, Bass." 

"Hmm," Blair began, "his boyfriend's handsome." Blair watched Didion work the crowd with his infectious grin and innocent dimples. "I was expecting Frankenstein." 

"Wait till he opens his mouth and the vile spews forth." 

Ian leaned in to say, "I recognize Frankenstein. He just joined the board of directors for the hospital. Has a funny name. Can't remember it right off hand." 

"His name is Didion Sachs," Collin added. 

"Didion?" Jim raised his eyebrows. "Aren't they the people who put Bibles in hotel rooms?" 

Collin laughed. "I knew there was a reason I liked you. No, those are the Gideons. This is Didion Sachs of Sachs-Rochemann Chemicals." 

"The pharmaceutical company?" inquired Jim. 

"The very same. The man is from the pits of hell and even Satan wouldn't have him for a neighbor." 

Blair touched his shoulder. "Well, here comes Satan." 

Sebastian, wearing a cream-colored cashmere turtle-neck and black double-breasted jacket, was the first to speak. "Collin!" He grabbed him in a hug. "Didion said you'd be here." 

"Did he?" Collin glared at Didion over Sebastian's shoulder. "I see you're still exchanging body fluids with that odious person." 

Sebastian rolled his eyes as he pulled away, returning to Didion's side. "Collin," Didion said, "good to see you again. And so far away from home." He gestured at the penthouse. "These surroundings . . . don't make you feel uncomfortable?" 

Collin stiffened and shot back, "I have a small ass, Didion, but it's all yours to kiss." 

"How charming. I bet your mother's proud." 

"More proud than yours." 

Sebastian touched Didion's shoulder. "Please stop it. Not here." 

Didion cleared his throat, closed his eyes and took a deep breath to clear his anger. "Very well. Truce for the evening? For Bass?" 

Collin narrowed one eye, then said, "Truce. For Bass." 

Didion scanned the other men. He recognized Ian first. "Dr. Yoshito." He held out his hand. "It's good to see you again. I didn't realize until yesterday that you were the one Bass said was dating his cousin. Well, welcome to the family, for what it's worth, coming from the outlawed in-law." Then he turned to Jim. "Hi, I'm Didion Sachs." 

"Jim Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." 

"Pleased to meet you. Bass has spoken highly of you, Blair. Would all of you be interested in coming by our house one night? For drinks? To get to know each other?" 

Sebastian looked at Collin. "Please?" 

Collin touched Ian's arm to keep him from responding. "We'll get back to you." 

Sebastian rolled his eyes again and muttered, "Jesus. I need a drink. Do you need one, Didion?" 

"In a minute. I need to speak to someone." 

"Blair, can I get you something? Jim? Ian?" 

"I'll go with you," Blair offered, then said to Jim, "I'll bring you something back." Ian excused himself, too, leaving Jim and Collin standing by themselves. Collin stood with one arm around his own waist and one hand holding his drink, trying to ignore Didion, even as the man came up close behind him. 

"You've done very well for yourself," Didion whispered. "A doctor? And a rich one at that." 

"Don't start with me, Didion. You know I'm not afraid of you." 

"You should be," Didion warned. "You've come a long way since '96. I wonder if Dr. Yoshito knows why you left Atlanta after the Olympics?" Didion looked up at Jim as if he knew he had been overheard then slipped away into the crowd. 

Jim looked at Collin instead. He could hear his heart pounding and smell the fear as the young man became suddenly pale, slamming down his drink in one gulp before hurrying to the balcony for air. /For someone who just stood up to a basher twice his size, that guy just scared the shit out of him./ 

Blair walked back and handed Jim a beer. "Where's Collin?" 

"Have you seen Ian?" Jim asked instead. 

"Yeah. I left him at the bar talking to someone. Why?" 

"I'll be right back." Jim spotted Ian quickly and pulled his elbow slightly. "Excuse us," he said to the man Ian was talking with. 

"Jim? What is it?" 

"Do me a favor. Go check on Collin for me." 

"Collin? What's wrong?" 

"I think that Didion guy rattled his nerves a little. He could use you right now. He's out on the balcony." 

Ian left without saying anything more to Jim. When Jim returned to Blair's side, his guide asked, "What was that all about?" 

"Who is this Didion Sachs person?" 

"I don't know," Blair answered. "He's Bass' boyfriend. That's all I know." 

"He's an ass." 

"I think Collin would agree with you. Collin almost makes it sound like Bass is in an abusive relationship." 

Jim tightened his jaw. "How well do you know Collin?" 

"Okay, I guess." 

"Has he ever talked to you about Atlanta?" 

"Sometimes. He was in a long-term relationship with someone. Had a house and everything. Then something happened and they broke up. That's when he moved out here. Why? What's going on?" 

"Nothing. Ian's handling it." Jim drank from his beer. "So the other one is that Bass guy you were telling me about?" 

"Yeah. I kinda like him. Seems nice." 

"Nice, maybe, but how did he get out of wearing a tie?" 

Blair chuckled slightly. "Jim, you can _so_ act like a little boy sometimes." 

"And you're one to speak," he whispered with a smile, kissing Blair on the side of the cheek before pulling back quickly. 

At this sudden public display of affection, Blair held a hand to his cheek and stared at his lover, amazed. 

* * *

Ian stepped out onto the expansive balcony. The night was getting chilly now, but Eric and Carl had set up space heaters, making everything more comfortable. He found Collin quickly, standing alone with his arms crossed, watching the full moon reflecting on the water of the sound. Slowly, Ian came closer, put his hands on Collin's shoulders and kissed his back. "Are you all right?" 

Collin took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm fine." 

"You sure? Jim just asked me to check on you." 

Collin spun around quickly. "Jim?" /Oh my god, I hope he didn't hear Didion!/ 

"Coll? What's wrong?" 

"Nothing--" 

"Don't lie to me. I can tell when you're upset." 

Collin turned and covered his eyes with his hand. "Ian, I love you." 

Ian wrapped his arms around Collin from behind. "Oh, baby, I love you, too. Nothing will change that." 

"Even if I did something horrible in the past?" 

Ian fell very quiet. Collin recognized the silence and tried to pull away. "I shouldn't have said anything." 

He grabbed Collin's hand, kept him from leaving, and drew him instead toward a stone bench. "Collin, I have to tell you something, tonight, when we get home. But until then," he stroked the thin beard along Collin's jaw, "know that I love you. And that I'm no angel, either." 

* * *

Several hours later, Jim started looking around for his partner. The blues singer who had been belting out Billie Holliday tunes had just stepped down, and the young blonde woman in the blue sequined gown who had been singing when they had come in returned to her place at the piano. She brushed her long hair from her face before taking a deep breath. 

[just in time] [I found you just in time] [before you came] [my time was running low] 

[I was lost] [the losing dice were tossed] [my bridges all were crossed] [no where to go] 

Jim listened for Blair's heartbeat and tracked it to the balcony. 

[now you're here] [and now I know just where I'm going] [no more doubts or fears] [I've found my way] 

[your love came just in time] [you found me just in time] [and changed my lonely life] [and lovely days] 

He saw his lover standing by himself, looking out at the Cascade skyline. A single strand of hair that had escaped his ponytail drifted in the wind. Jim came forward, placed his large hands on Blair's shoulders, and kissed his neck. 

"Mmm," Blair purred. 

"Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Dance with me." 

Blair turned to look at him, glowing softly. "I thought you'd never ask me." Both men stood with their legs slightly apart. Blair enjoyed the press of a stong leg into his groin as he pushed his own 

body closer. Jim slipped his arms around Blair, and as the singer started her second song, they began to rock together slowly under the moonlight and autumn breeze, Blair's head snuggled against a strong chest, Jim's nose savouring the scent of thick curls. The guide drifted in the sensation of his larger lover shifting beneath his arms, protected by the sentinel's hand pressed tightly against the small of his back. 

[it's not the pale moon that excites me] [that thrills and delights me] [although] [its just the nearness of you] 

Inside the penthouse, Sebastian felt Didion suddenly pull him backwards against his chest, wrap his arm around him and kiss him 

softly on the cheek. They watched Jim and Blair dancing. Neither said a word, but their focus on Jim and Blair was intense. 

[it's not your sweet conversation] [that brings this sensation] [although] [its just the nearness of you] [when you're in my arms] [and I feel you so close to me] [all my wildest dreams] [come true] 

The singer paused, and Blair looked up. His dark blue eyes sparkled. Jim leaned down and kissed him, long and deep, as the singer's voice suddenly swelled with power. 

[my romance] [doesn't have to have a moon in the sky] [my romance] [doesn't need a blue lagoon standing by] 

[no month of May, no twinkling stars] [no hide-away, no soft guitars] 

[my romance] [doesn't need a castle rising in Spain] [nor a dance with a constantly surprising refrain] 

[wide awake] [I can make my most fantastic dreams] [come true] [my romance] [doesn't need a thing] [but you] 

"Blair?" 

"Yes, Jim?" 

"Let's go home." 

* * *

The moment Blair walked through the door to the loft, he spun around and kissed Jim. The older man almost laughed as he held Blair's waist. "Go on upstairs, Chief. I'll just lock up down here." 

Blair hurried upstairs, and Jim expected him to be under the covers when he got there, but Blair was lying fully dressed across the bed. Even his shoes were still on. Blair noticed Jim's surprised expression and he whispered, "Undress me." 

One eye narrowed, Jim tried not to smile. He stared hard into Blair's eyes as he jutted out his jaw. His hands touched the lapels of his navy sports coat, opening it. As his arms bent back and his shoulders curled, Jim's chest expanded and the sleeves of his coat slipped off him. The sight of it -- of Jim's broad shoulders and his muscled pecs swelling -- sparked a wave of hunger in his guide. Jim slowly, carefully draped his coat across the back of a chair, and when he turned to face Blair, he recognized the warm mahogany scent of Blair's pheromones. He stripped off his tie a little bit quicker, and made fast work of his shirt buttons. 

This time, when he bent his arms back to pull off his white shirt and his bare chest expanded, Blair let out a soft moan. Blair bit his lower lip, and his eyes were glued to the sight of Jim's brown nipples. Jim could no longer resist the smell of his guide, and he tossed the shirt to the floor, kicked off his shoes, then lowered himself over Blair. 

Blair forced himself not to move, only lifting his head up slightly to receive Jim's kiss. "Undress me," he whispered again. 

Jim stood up again, smiled, then gently lifted Blair's right foot and pulled off his shoe. He slipped his hands under Blair's slacks, and stroked the thick hairs on his legs. Blair sat up slightly, wincing back a laugh as Jim's fingers against his body hair tickled him. Jim tried not to laugh himself, but he wriggled his fingers against his lover's calf, tickling him again. 

Blair peered up at him with sad puppy eyes and shook his head slowly in a silent, pleading, "don't." 

And Jim understood. /He doesn't want to be teased. He wants to feel special./ Calm fingers pulled Blair's sock away, and Jim's warm hands squeezed his foot, massaging it firmly. Blair groaned out loud and rolled his head back, his hair spilling past his shoulders. Jim continued rubbing Blair's feet, taking his left foot and massaging that one, too, until Blair could no longer hold himself up by his elbows and he collapsed against the bed. 

Jim leaned over him, his hands against the mattress and only their legs touching. "Jim, you're going to _have_ to undress me now. None of my muscles are working." 

Jim glanced down at Blair's swollen groin. "Looks like one muscle's working just fine to me." He lowered himself more, still trying not to touch Blair, and kissed his chest through the cloth of his shirt. With one hand, he tried to pull Blair's tie loose. When it fought him, he sat on his knees, pressing his rear into Blair's crotch and feeling his hard cock. Doing this freed both of his hands and he quickly stripped away Blair's tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. Then he pressed his big hands onto the naked chest, and Blair shivered as the warmth passed through him. Jim unbuckled the belt, unzipped the pants, and in a fluid motion, pulled off the slacks and boxers, leaving his lover nude and exposed on his bed. 

He covered his lover with his body, one arm behind Blair's back, and nibbled on the younger man's neck. "Oh, Jim," he moaned as one of his hands cupped the back of Jim's head. When the detective bit down hard on his neck, Blair's "Oh Jim!" grew louder. Pushing him back on the bed with both arms wrapped around Blair's shoulders, Jim continued to bite. The guide lifted his legs, locking them with his ankles around his lover's waist as his hands groped his buttocks through his slacks. 

Jim slipped his hands under Blair's arms and pushed him toward the headboard until he could lick the younger man's hairy chest, searching with his tongue until he felt the cold silver of the nipple ring. Taking it between his teeth, Jim tugged on it, causing Blair to arch his back off the mattress each time. The younger man's hands raced across Jim's back, squeezing the muscles and dragging his short fingernails across the hot skin. Jim planted soft kisses down the thick trail of hair, down his breastbone, down his stomach, pausing to tongue his bellybutton while Blair's long cock poked him in the soft center of his chin. 

He squeezed his young partner's balls, enjoying the moans of "jim" that this elicited. Taking Blair's cock by the base, he pulled it away from Blair's stomach. In the light of the beside lamp, he saw Blair's pleasure-drugged expression beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. He poked out the tip of his tongue and pressed it against Blair's cockhead, then touched on various places along the shaft and head, causing Blair to sigh. Once he got to Blair's balls, he wiped his tongue in one wide swath down the length before taking the head into his wet mouth. 

Blair's hands immediately found Jim's head, rubbing his hands over the short hair and pushing his face down. Jim took as much of Blair's length into his throat, then pulled back, sucking hard. Blair's shoulders curled off the mattress before falling back again with a moan. Jim loved sucking on Blair's cock, especially the way the younger man squirmed under him like he was trying to escape. He gauged Blair's body heat and heartbeat and pulled away when he thought Blair was coming too close to orgasm. 

Blair's body sagged into a limp heap when Jim stopped. "Gods, Jim, you're incredible." 

Jim only grinned as he sat up, unbuckling his belt and pulling his own slacks and boxers free. With both hands, he took Blair's cock and his own erection, squeezed them together, and with soft movements of his hips started rocking their shafts against each other. Blair thrust his hips upward in unison. 

Then Jim leaned over to the bedside table, pulled out the lube and squirted some into his hands. Blair shouted as he felt the cold oil coating his penis, then looked up as Jim pressed the tube into his hands. He could see his partner sitting astride him, knees spread wide, hands behind his head. The dark patches of hair under his arms, the triangle shape of his muscles and chest -- caused Blair's lust to burn hotter. He poured lube into his hand, then reached under Jim's balls. 

Gently, he stroked the crease of Jim's ass, massaging the hard muscles and feeling the small hairs that grew there. Then Blair took more lube and circled his fingertips around the rim of Jim's ass. "Blair!" he groaned, his hips bucking slightly. Carefully, Blair pushed a finger inside, not rushing it. He knew Jim was tight, and he was always considerate. Taking more lube, Blair tried a second finger, and then a third. He paused, with three fingers inside the older man, and held his hand still as Jim made the movements, fucking himself against Blair's hand. With his free hand, Blair made sure his cock was still slick. 

When Jim felt he was ready, he reached down for Blair's cock and aimed it for his center. His eyes and mouth squeezed shut, and Jim jerked slightly when he felt the cockhead press against his hole. The cockhead pushed its way past his rim as Jim sat down slightly, and he forced out his breath in a long sigh as he pushed it in deeper, past the opening. Once the head was through the sphincter, Jim relaxed even more, his chin touching his chest, and Blair slid into his body. 

Blair stroked Jim's legs, and Jim waited for the burning itch to stop inside him. When he became accustomed to Blair's cock, Jim sat up slightly, withdrawing, then down again, pushing it deeper. His movements grew faster until he was fucking himself while Blair held on tight to his smooth thighs. 

After a few moments, Jim pushed Blair's cock as deep inside him as possible, then grabbed Blair's hips. Slowly, he pulled Blair up, lifting him from the mattress as Jim tried to lie down, unwilling to break the connection. Blair helped as best he could until finally he was lying on top. The older man wrapped his legs around Blair's waist, then guided his thrusts with his hand on the small of Blair's back. "Fuck me," Jim whispered, "hard." 

Blair slid his cock out, almost to the tip, then drilled deep into Jim with one thrust. Jim gasped, his head thrown back and his neck muscles strained. The tight sensation of Jim's muscles surrounding his cock felt like heaven, and Blair abandoned himself to the pleasure of reaming Jim. 

Lying on his back, Jim knew Blair was about to come. When Jim's senses were dialed too high, he could feel the electric pulse of Blair's climax through his own skin. The tingling sensation Jim felt everywhere Blair's body touched him warned his sentinel senses. Jim pulled Blair down tight as the younger man continued to pound into him fiercely. The electric sensation was most intense inside him, where Blair's cock raked against his insides, growing in strength until it felt like Blair's body was covered in numbing fur. 

Blair shouted, and his cock exploded. The warm whoosh of fluid inside Jim, along with the electric shock, sent Jim over the edge. His anal muscles clenched around Blair, milking his lover as his own orgasm surged, soaking both men's chests. Jim couldn't breathe as the sparkling array of lights and colors blinded him and his body began to quiver. Zoning, Jim focused on Blair's sweet whispers, "Shhhhhhh. Let it happen, baby. Shhhhhh. I love you. I love you so much." 

Jim was nearly crying with exhaustion from his own climax, coupled with experiencing Blair's, but this was always a mystical sensation for him. His physical connection. Each time they came together, Blair would coax Jim back to earth by rubbing the back of his knuckles against Jim's face. Butterfly kisses calmed him down further, and when his heart stopped racing and he regained control of his breathing, Jim moaned, "Blair. God, I love you." 

* * *

It was almost morning. Ian and Collin had slipped out with Jim and Blair, and when they returned to Ian's apartment, they had built a fire. Now, the fire was slowly dying, and in the silence, its crackling coals popped and hissed. The slight flickering flames turned their skin orange. Gently, Collin toyed with strands of Ian's thick black hair as his lover dozed in his lap. In a daze, Collin tried to understand what Ian had just confessed to him, about testing on American soldiers, about watching them die. But Ian had refrained from telling Collin about his connection to Jim and Blair. Afterwards, all Collin could say was, "Thank you . . . for telling me." 

"Collin?" 

"What?" 

"I have never forgiven myself for what I did," he had said. "Nothing you could have done in your past could compare in my eyes to what I did. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'm certain I can forgive you." 

"Thank you." He had kissed him hard, his eyes wet. "Thank you." 

Even so, Collin couldn't tell Ian what had happened in Atlanta during the Olympics. He just couldn't do it. /Not yet./ 

"Tell me when you're ready," Ian had said. "I will never force you." 

* * *

Several days later, Blair heard a knock on his office door. "Come in?" When he recognized the black hair, green turtle-neck and bright smile, he couldn't really believe it. "Bass?" 

"Hey, buddy. Can I come in?" 

"Of course. Of course." 

"I didn't know you wore glasses. You look good in them. You should wear them more often." 

"Thanks. Uh, what are you doing here?" 

"Came to see if I could bug you. You aren't busy are you?" 

"No, not really. Just doing research today." 

Sebastian picked up Blair's book on sentinels, and noticed the photo of the tribal warrior. "Who's this? He's hot." 

Blair smiled. "He's a sentinel. Are you familiar with them?" 

"No." Sebastian read some of the text as he sat down on the edge of Blair's desk. "Sir Richard Burton, huh?" 

"Yeah. The explorer, not the actor." 

Sebastian eyed with him a patient look. "I know who he is." 

"Sorry. Most people don't." 

"I'm not most people," he said, still looking at him with soft black eyes. "I think his wife should have done us all a favor and burned the Kama Sutra and kept the rest of his papers untouched." 

"Well, it sure would have made my dissertation a lot easier if she had." 

"Are you doing your dissertation on Burton?" 

"Yeah. On a rare monograph he did concerning sentinels. You see, sentinels were men with heightened senses who guarded the tribe." 

"Just men?" Sebastian asked. 

"Well, I haven't come across a female sentinel. Not yet, anyway." 

"Can I read it . . . your dissertation, that is?" 

"Oh, I'm not finished with it." 

"Not even a part of it?" 

"It would just bore you." 

"Blair, I have a degree in philosophy. It won't bore me. Trust me." 

"I'll think about it." 

Sebastian tossed the book onto Blair's desk with a loud slap. "God damnit, you're as bad as Collin." Blair didn't say anything. He merely sat behind his desk with his hands raised defensively. Then Sebastian said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you." 

"No problem, man." 

"You know, I always said I was going to go back and get my Ph.D., and I never did. Then all of my friends started going back, and I stayed in corporate. I don't know when it changed for them, when they saw me as no longer _smart_. Do you know how much it hurts when someone dismisses something you said with, 'Oh, well, you haven't done the research like we have'? Or even worse, when you walk in a room and everyone with a grad degree stops talking altogether and turns the topic of conversation to something like the latest wine or where to score a decent joint? I mean, I may just have a goddamn bachelors degree in religious philosophy, but I've kept reading on my own, you know? I could write a book on shamanism if I wanted to." 

Blair immediately stood up. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like that. Here, tell me what you think of this." He handed him a notebook. "It's my notes on the spiritual aspects of sentinels and their guides." 

Sebastian covered his face with his hands. "Shit," he mumbled. 

"What? What did I do?" 

"I'm so embarrassed." He handed the notebook back to Blair, his face bright red. "I can't take this, not after the scene I just pulled. I feel like turd in a punchbowl." He started to rise. 

Blair handed the notebook back. "No, I mean it. Shamanism is like a major weak point for me right now, and I'm looking for any advice from all corners. I know it looks and sounds like I'm being patronizing, but I'm not. Honest. Please, it would mean a lot to me." 

Sebastian looked at the notebook, his face still red. "This is . . . extremely kind of you." 

"Kind nothing. I expect to see notes and documentation when you get finished with it." He bumped his shoulder against Sebastian's. "Now, you didn't come here for intellectual validation, did you?" 

"No, not really." He pulled a piece of paper out of his jeans pocket. "A guy on the soccer team tried to pick me up, though." 

"Shut up! You move fast!" 

"Yeah, well. Too bad I'm majorly spoken for. You want it?" 

"Gods no! Get that thing away from me. Jim is like way possessive. If he even smells another guy's phone number, I'm in big trouble. Give it to Collin. He'll get rid of it for you." 

Sebastian gave a quick laugh, then looked down at his feet. "Collin." 

"So you didn't come here for intellectual validation, and you didn't come here to cruise the jocks. What's up?" 

"Blair, I need your help. Collin won't talk to me. And . . . Didion moves around so often, I rarely get a chance to make friends. I'm lonely, and I want to stay here in Cascade. We . . . we want to have you and Jim and Ian and Collin over for dinner, but Collin won't come, and so Ian won't come. And . . ." He looked up at Blair sadly. "You and Jim won't come if Collin and Ian don't come." 

"Have you asked us?" 

Sebastian shook his head. "We want you to come over, but if you say yes, and then Collin doesn't come . . . I don't want Collin to think we're going behind his back or anything." 

"Why would he think that?" 

"Well, you're his friend." 

"I have a lot of friends, Bass." 

"Okay. I hear you. But Didion . . . he really wants to make peace with Collin. I mean, I know he could care less one way or the other what Collin thinks, but . . . he knows it's bothering me. And I know Didion's a tough nut to crack. He never lets anyone really in and he's so controlled. But he's so much better than when I first met him. Before, he would have just ignored Collin, but now he's different. Collin and Didion didn't get off on the right foot. Didion was having . . . some physical problems and . . . well . . . he hit me. He didn't mean it. He's was just in a panic and he had to take it out on somebody. Collin, well, he never forgave Didion for it. But Didion and I worked through all that." 

"Whoa," Blair forced his hands to his temples. "Major paradigm shift!" 

"Huh?" 

"Didion sounds exactly like Jim." 

"Not surprised. Jim being a cop and all." 

"Was Didion a cop?" 

"No, not really. But he was in the Army for a while. Deep down, that militarism is the same." 

"Didion was in the Army?" 

"Yeah. Rangers." 

Blair stood up. "Come on." 

"Where are we going?" 

"Collin's office. Listen, I know where you're coming from finally. I mean, don't take me wrong, but Collin paints a pretty nasty picture of Didion." 

"Yeah. I know." 

"But from what you just said, Didion sounds like a carbon copy of Jim, and I know that Jim can come off like an asshole if he's not careful." 

* * *

Collin heard the rap on his door. "Yes?" 

"It is only I, a poor humble student, here to beg for you to reconsider. Please don't fail me! Don't send me back to Yakima with an F in English." 

"Bass?" 

The door opened, and both Sebastian and Blair peeked in. 

"My," Collin began, "look what the cat drug up." 

Sebastian cast his eye towards Blair. "Which one of us is the cat?" he asked in a stage whisper. 

"We'll figure it out later," Blair whispered back. 

"Okay." They fell into the room, snickering. Sebastian looked around Collin's office, at the piles of books stacked against each other and the various posters. "Oh my god!" 

"What now?" Collin asked. 

"This place looks exactly like Dr. Youngblood's office. Do you remember?" Suddenly the two of them barked out a series of "fah fah fah" sounds like a stuffy professor before breaking into peals of laughter. Blair just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Then Sebastian noticed the picture of William Faulkner in a gold frame. "What's this? A shrine to Uncle Billy? Where are the votive candles?" 

Collin pressed his hand to his chest in mock offense. "Rude! Faulkner can do no wrong!" 

"Yeah, right. What was  The Fable all about, anyway?" 

Collin threw a pencil at him. "Philistine! How dare you invade this ivy-covered concentration camp I call sanctuary?" 

Sebastian turned with a grin. "Come with us! I just talked Blair into a trip to the house. I haven't been able to show it off to anybody! Please?" Collin gave him a wry look. "Oh, come on, Collin. Didion's in Seattle all day today and he won't be back until late tonight. Please?" 

"Fine. But I will not be responsible for that man's health if he shows up early." 

"Great. Now, where's the bathroom in this place? I am about to burst." 

"Down the hall. And no cruising allowed." 

"Oh, that reminds me." Sebastian pulled out the soccer player's phone number. "Don't say I never gave you anything. Oh, and hold this for me, too." He handed Collin Blair's notebook. "Be back in a sec." He dashed out. 

"What is this?" Collin asked Blair. 

"What, the phone number, or the notebook?" 

"The notebook." Collin threw the number in the trash. "I already have Phillip Szlegowsky's phone number." 

"Okay, I won't go there." Blair pointed to the notebook. "I gave Bass my notes on shamanistic rituals in tribes that are reported to have primitive sentinels in them. He said he'd look it over and give me his comments." 

Collin touched Blair's arm with a honest look of surprise. "Blair, you have no idea what that means to me. If you can encourage him to return to school and get his Ph.D., I'd be eternally grateful." 

"Oh yeah? Grateful enough to have dinner with him . . . and Didion?" 

Collin stiffened immediately. "You can't be serious." 

"Now, Collin, before you fly off the handle. Bass and I've been talking about it for a while, and Didion sounds a lot like Jim. And Jim can come off like a real jerk sometimes." 

"Blair, Didion did not 'come off like a jerk.' He fucking ruined my life, and he's hung over Bass like a vampire for years. Bass isn't at all like he once was. He used to be so full of life and so confident. Has he told you about the time he was hospitalized for being beaten? Has he shown you the scar on his chest?" 

"Have I shown you mine?" Blair asked, pointing to his chest where Marshall Aigle's bullet had clipped him after ending Jack McClairy's life. 

Collin shook like he had been slapped. "Blair . . . I . . ." 

"No, I'm sorry. There was like no need for that kind of drama. I don't even know why I said it." 

"Blair, I really, really appreciate you trying to get close to Bass, and I want to encourage you to do more of it. One of the reasons . . . one of the reasons I sought you out was because you constantly reminded me of Bass before . . ." 

"Before what?" 

"Before he met Didion. You see, this is the reason I hate Didion. That man is a beast who hurts people for fun. He manipulates your trust and good nature and uses you for it. The last time he was in my life . . ." His voice trailed off. 

"Collin," Blair began with waning patience. "I understand that something went down in Atlanta in 96. I understand that you were hurt and I even understand your unwillingness to tell anybody. But don't threaten me with rumors, man. If there's something I should know, then tell me." 

Both men stared at each other and the tension mounted. Finally, Collin crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "Blair . . . I can't even build up the courage to tell Ian yet." 

Suddenly Sebastian burst into the room, startling them both. Blair rubbed his mouth while Collin spun around to stare at the wall. "Hey, are y'all ready?" 

* * *

The sailboat had just slipped under the I-5 bridge between Seattle and Freemont-Wallingford, heading into Lake Union. Most of the party sat toward the back of the boat -- three men, one older and overweight with balding black hair, the others young and muscled -- along with three women who seemed more interested in the older gentleman. The older man tried to dance with a young woman, his hips swaying. The sails fluttered softly, and the wind lapped the dark water against the boat's gleaming white sides. Sunglasses blocked the glare of the autumn sun from their eyes, and a soft laugh floated from the deck. 

Some else heard the laughter as he stood on the rooftop of a building along the shore a great distance away. The wind whipped the beige trenchcoat around his calves, but he didn't seem to notice it. Instead, his hearing scanned for heartbeats in his area, making sure no one was close. A dull metal air-conditioning unit blocked the view from the interstate and the houses which clung to the hills above Lake Union, and so his main concern focused on the other boaters and on any spying eyes along Queen Anne's Hill across the lake. He waited, his senses on-line and heightened, when suddenly his body snapped. His arm sprang out, aiming the pistol. He squeezed the trigger. The silencer muffled the sound. Instinctively, he housed his pistol back into his shoulder holster. 

On the sailboat, the older gentlemen leaned toward one of the women, his hand tracing her jaw, when the bullet shattered his skull from the side and sprayed her with gore and blood. 

Didion heard her screams as he turned and slipped down the stairs. He could still make it across Lake Washington for his meeting in Redmond with ten minutes to spare. 

* * *

[Continued in part two](timedoes_a.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Time Does Not Bring Relief

By Kadru

Author's homepage: <http://www.mindspring.com/~kadru/index.html>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Time Does Not Bring Relief -- part two  
By Kadru 

As they pulled onto the highway, Sebastian leaned over to Blair in the front passenger seat. "You won't be cold with the top down, will you?" 

"Nah. It's warm today." 

"Good. I remember you saying how cold Cascade was that day y'all came to pick me up. Didn't want you to freeze. I should have sold this thing in Santa Barbara while I had the chance. Don't guess I'll get much use out of it here." 

From the backseat Collin remarked, "It's a lot better than that little Miata you used to drive." 

"Hey, I loved that car!" 

"Bass, honey, you couldn't fit you, me and a pack of cigarettes in that car." 

"Yeah, but it sure came in handy." Then he said to Blair. "You see, when you drive a two seater, when it comes time to leave the bar with a crowd of people, you always get to pick the cutest guy to ride with you. . . . But why am I telling you this? You know this already." 

"Well, no, not really," Blair replied. "I've never really picked someone up in a gay bar before." 

Sebastian looked over at him hard. "Oh, I'm sorry. Aren't you . . . gay?" 

Blair shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I am. I haven't . . . been with guys that long." 

"Oh. But you and Jim . . . you know . . . I mean, that night at the party . . . you were dancing together." 

"Yeah, we're together. We don't tell many people about it though." 

"Afraid of how the other cops will take it?" 

"Something like that." 

Sebastian glanced into the rear-view mirror to make eye contact with Collin. Collin quickly shook his head and placed his finger to his lips. 

At that moment, the radio finished playing a Pearl Jam single and a news report began. "This just in from Seattle. Suspected drug king-pin Anthony Caldwell was shot today on his private yacht in Lake Union." 

Sebastian reached for the radio dial to change the station when Blair pulled his hand back. "Wait. I want to hear this." 

"Police have no leads as to how Caldwell was shot, and they are asking anyone who might have witnessed the killing to come forward." 

"Did you know him?" Sebastian asked. 

"I knew _of_ him. The Cascade PD was working with Seattle to pin this guy down. Guess Jim will be relieved to hear this, although I don't know what it's going to do to the local syndicate." 

"Isn't Didion in Seattle right now?" Collin asked. 

Blair did not notice the vicious stare Sebastian shot back at Collin through the rear view mirror. 

Once at his house, Sebastian seemed a little pre-occupied. Showing Collin and Blair the house made it easier for him to find something to say. He watched with some amusement as Blair spun around in the circular foyer, taking the entire room in one gestalt -- the redwood walls, the stone floor, the large stone staircase that rose in a curve to the second floor, the round skylight above the circle of plants in the center of the room. 

Collin glanced at the Roman and Greek funeral steles that hung on the walls, the ancient amphoras, and the chipped Byzantine mosaic, calculating the value. He knew Didion was rich, but he wasn't expecting this. "So what do you think of these pieces?" Sebastian asked. 

"My deepest sympathies on the death of your soul." 

* * *

"Jim?" Blair asked as they sat on the sofa, watching television. 

"Yeah?" 

"Uhm . . . we've been invited to have dinner with Bass and Didion." 

"Oh really? Hope you don't mind going by yourself." 

Blair sighed with a frown. "Jim--" 

"I don't like him, Blair." 

"He's just trying to be nice." 

"You're too trusting." 

"No, I'm not. And I'm tired of you saying that. I just don't judge people until I really get to know them." 

"And when is that, Darwin? After they dump all over you?" 

"Please don't make this any more difficult. I happen to like Bass a lot. And we've been invited so that Collin and Ian will go. They won't go unless we go. And all Bass wants to do is reconcile Collin and Didion. Please. As a favor." 

"I don't like it, Chief." 

"Why? What's Didion done to you?" 

"I just don't like him. That's all." 

"Did you know he was once in the Rangers?" 

Jim looked at him, surprised. "The Rangers?" 

"Yes. And he's trying to be nice, Jim. We shouldn't just slap him down until we know him. I mean, I love Collin to death, but we are just taking his side in this. And we both know what a drama queen he is." 

Jim thought back to the threats he had heard Didion make to Collin during the party. "I don't know, Blair." 

"Jim, you're a cop. What's one little dinner going to hurt you?" 

"All right. All right." 

* * *

Didion and Sebastian stood next to each other in their large kitchen, slicing vegetables. Every so often one would hold a pepper or mushroom for the other to nibble. Once the last mushroom was sliced, Didion placed the knife on the butcher-block then grabbed Sebastian by the hips for a quick kiss. Sebastian returned it, his hand at Didion's neck, when the older man stiffened. "What is it?" Sebastian asked. 

"Jim and Blair just drove up." 

Sebastian smiled. "Man, you're so hot when you do that." 

He grinned. "Come on. Show's on." 

Sebastian reached out for his arm. "Wait . . . what's the game plan here?" 

"No game plan. We get to know them better. They get to know us." 

"What do they get to know about us? What's the story?" 

"No story. If I can tell when people are lying, then I'm sure Jim can, too. We tell the truth." 

"All of it?" 

Didion kissed him on the nose. "You'll be fine. You always think quick on your feet. We wouldn't have made it this far together if you didn't. Just relax. Have a good time for a change. Besides, when Ian and Collin show up, you won't be the center of attention anyway." 

Sebastian groaned. "I should be more worried about Collin than Jim and Blair." 

"Good boy." Then the doorbell rang. "I'll let you get it." 

* * *

When Sebastian opened the door and invited them in, Jim tried not to show a reaction. He had grown up as a rich kid, and his father's house was one of the largest on the block. But his father's colonial style home didn't compare to this modernistic redwood mansion -- this place reminded him of an art museum. Blair had seen it all before, and he walked behind Sebastian, chattering. Jim thought all the ancient Greek art seemed a little out of place with the modern curves of the house, then he noticed the almond slate floor and he started thinking of The Flintstones instead. 

"We decided to grill shish-kabobs outside," Sebastian said to them both. "Can you believe how warm it is today?" 

"Enjoy it while you can," Blair replied. "This kind of weather is like so not usual." 

Jim stopped in the hallway. A small piece of sculpture that was so out of place against the ancient Mediterranean artifacts grabbed his attention. It was almost southwestern in flavor, depicting a natural scene of the American desert. Along a cliff dotted with scrub pines, a brown cougar stalked around the corner of the rocks. Close by, a black wolf lay, curled up in a ball as if asleep, but one ear was raised, listening. Looking at it, Jim swore the cougar appeared to be protecting the wolf, not hunting it. 

"Do you like it?" Sebastian whispered, startling Jim. When Jim didn't answer, Sebastian added, "We saw this piece outside of Tucson and fell in love with it. Didion says it reminds him of us." 

"Why?" 

"The cougar has brown hair. The wolf has black." Sebastian left him standing at the sculpture. As he and Blair stepped out onto the deck, Jim heard Sebastian say, "We have beers chilling in that tub over there, if y'all want one." 

Jim walked out onto the deck and noticed Didion standing over a large grill. Didion looked over at him, gave him a soft smile, then returned to lighting the grill. Once it had started, Didion came around, took two beers out of the ice, and approached Jim. He held out his hand, and after Jim shook it, he handed the detective a beer. "I'm glad you could make it, Jim," he said. Jim could tell he was nervous, but his smile seemed open and genuine. "I hope you like this place." 

Jim looked out over the deck, between two huge Douglas firs that grew on the outside edges of the heavily wooded property. A black metal banister guarded the edge. From here, Jim could see almost all of downtown Cascade, the park, the sound opening up into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The view was vast, and the warm autumn air was soft and fragrant. "It's all right." 

Didion laughed slightly. "Yeah. It'll do." 

Jim eyed him once, then looked back toward the sound. 

"So, how long have you lived here?" Didion asked. 

"All my life." 

"Hmm. I envy you. I've lived all over." 

"Where are you from?" 

"I was born in Indiana." 

"I don't know what upsets my mother more," Sebastian said in a teasing voice. "That I'm with a man or that I'm with a yankee." 

"Uhm, I hate to tell you this, Bass," Blair began, "but the Civil War was over a long time ago." 

Then Didion winked before saying, "And in case you didn't hear, we won." 

Sebastian started to say something back, but the ringing phone interrupted. He held up a finger to the others as he picked up the cordless phone and answered it. "Hello? Hey, kiddo, where are you?" There was a long pause, then Sebastian shook his head before pressing the off button to disconnect the caller in mid-sentence. He mumbled as his hand massaged his temple, "I am so over this." 

"What's wrong?" Didion asked. "Was that Collin?" 

"Yes," he replied angrily, then mocked Collin's voice, "'Bass, honey, something's come up.' I should have fucking known." Suddenly he stood up. "I need a real drink." 

Didion started to follow him, but Blair touched his arm. "I'll go. You handle the grill." He followed after him into the kitchen. Didion turned to the grill, stared at it, then wiped his hands through his hair. "Damn, that guy hates me." 

"Why?" Jim asked, moving towards him and leaning against the deck railing. 

Giving him a sharp eye, Didion replied, "What? Collin hasn't made a big deal out of saying why?" 

"No. He hasn't said anything." 

Didion looked back at the house. "I don't know what else to do, Jim. He and Bass used to be so close, and it's killing me to think I'm hurting Bass. He means the world to me." Jim measured his heartbeats, but all he could detect was Didion's honest emotions. "I'd do anything to bury the hatchet." 

"Including threaten Collin?" 

"Do what?" 

"I heard you threaten him at the party." 

Didion shook his head. "I was . . . I was just being stupid that night. It's just . . . it's just sometimes I can't help it. I see something hurting Bass and I go running in with both barrels. Bass says I'm being too alpha-male when I do it. And like that night," Didion looked at Jim, "I always regret what I said later. . . . Have you ever acted like that when it comes to Blair?" 

Jim nodded his head with a guilty frown. 

Didion turned back toward the house. "He saved my life, Jim, when it needed saving the most. And all the money in the world won't ever repay that. I was sure I had no soul then. I didn't give a damn about another human being." He shook his head. "You know, not long after we met, he came to see me while I was in the hospital. He said something . . ." Didion hung his head. "He said something nice to me, and I hit him for it. Punched his lights out. Jim, he forgave me for it just like that," Didion snapped his fingers. "No one had ever . . . given me a second chance like that." 

"Why did you hit him?" 

* * *

Sebastian had already filled a tumbler with ice, and he was pouring vodka by the time Blair had reached the kitchen. Once the glass was three-fourth's full, he reached for a lime then a slight splash of tonic. "Whoa, dude. Why bother with the tonic?" 

Sebastian just stared at him as he threw back the cocktail. "I'm fine, Blair. I just need a stiff drink before I call Collin back to chew him out." 

"You hung up on him, didn't you?" 

"Blair, don't you think I'm doing my best here? Don't you think I'm holding out enough olive branches?" 

When he tried to take another swallow of his drink, Blair touched his wrist. "Come on, Bass. Don't get trashed before you do it." 

"A joint is what I need." 

"Well, not around Jim, okay? And that means a _long_ way from Jim." 

Sebastian huffed before shaking his head. "This will be fine," he said, pointing to the drink. "You go on outside. I'll be there in a minute. I'm just going to lay the mother of all guilt trips on my cousin. Besides, that's what family's for. Then I'll join y'all." 

* * *

"Why did you hit him?" Jim asked, just as Blair was walking back onto the deck. 

"Hit? Who'd you hit?" 

Didion noticed him with a closed-mouth smile. "It was a long time ago. I was pretty fucked up and didn't really know what I was doing." 

"Was this in Atlanta?" Blair asked. 

"Yeah. Not long after Collin . . ." 

"After he what?" 

Didion looked to Jim, then back at Blair. "Maybe I shouldn't. I'm in enough hot water with Collin as it is without telling his secrets." 

Blair threw up his hands. "Damnit, no one is ever going to tell me what happened in Atlanta!" He stepped over to one of the chairs and threw himself into it. 

"But _you_ had something to do with it," Jim said calmly. 

Not answering at first, Didion stared at his hands instead. "I . . . I had an affair with Collin's boyfriend. They had been together for four years." When no one said anything, Didion offered in his defense. "I didn't know Brian was with him. And Brian was the one who came on to me." 

"I take it Brian was Collin's boyfriend?" Jim asked. 

"Yeah. I was . . . I was a little messed up then. It wasn't easy for me to accept . . . who I needed to be. I mean, I was in the Army for years." 

"The Army?" 

"Yeah. I was a Ranger." 

"Where?" 

"Covert Ops." 

A quick check of Didion's vitals and Jim was certain he wasn't lying. "When?" 

"I started in '83." 

"I was in the Rangers then." 

"Yeah, I know." Didion looked at him, a little guilty. "I remember reading about you in '89, when you came back from Peru. I . . . I didn't know how to tell you I knew who you were. I didn't want you to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. You were like a hero to all of us back then. But I honestly didn't think I could be the kind of Ranger you were. Anyway, after the army I wound up in Atlanta during the Olympics, not sure where my life was headed. Brian and I were working security when he picked me up in Centennial Park after one of the free concerts." 

"Brian was involved in security?" 

"He was an Atlanta cop." 

Jim looked at Blair. "Did you know this?" 

"Collin's made off-hand comments about dating cops before. I didn't realize that was the guy he was living with for so long. What happened to Brian?" 

"Well, I liked him. Started going out with him. Then Collin found out and all hell broke loose . . . . Bass came by the hospital afterwards, to check on me. That's when I hit him. Collin sort of freaked me out, and added to that was all the other stuff about being with a guy, anyway. But Bass, he kept after me, and eventually I had to accept the fact that I was in love with him. I mean, really in love with somebody. Once I figured it all out, man, I pulled out all the stops in romancing that guy. And, I think Collin really hated me then. First his boyfriend, then his cousin and best friend." 

The door opened and Sebastian stepped out. "Well?" Didion asked. 

"He's still not coming, but I think I made him feel bad about it. Well, I guess if it's just us, we should go ahead and get dinner fixed. Blair, you want to help me bring the rest of the food out?" 

"Sure." 

Jim and Didion watched their partners leave. "Jim, I know I can be overprotective of him. I don't mean to hurt people . . . I just get scared sometimes. I'm scared something's going to happen to him. Do you get like that sometimes?" 

Jim peered down into the bottle of his beer. "Sometimes." 

"How do they treat you at the station?" 

"I don't think anyone's picked up on it yet." 

"Do you think they'd take it okay? I mean, what's Cascade like?" 

"I don't know of anyone who's tested it yet. But I won't lie. It's the one thing that scares me the most." 

"Why?" 

"I've seen cops do some really nasty things to other cops that they thought had stepped out of line. And the Army wasn't a good role model, either." 

"Do you love Blair?" 

"Of course." 

"If someone tried to separate you, wouldn't you do everything you could to stop them?" 

"Hell, yes." 

"What if that person was Blair's best friend, or his family? What if trying to stop that person would hurt Blair just as badly?" 

Jim couldn't answer him. 

"Now do you see where I'm coming from?" 

* * *

Several hours after Jim and Blair left, Didion ascended the curving central staircase, his bare feet leaving wet footprints in the rough slate of the steps. The slate floor was one of the reasons he selected this house. Through his feet, he could feel the natural sandy texture of the warm stone. Already he had become so accustomed to the house that he didn't need to see where he was going while he scrubbed his wet hair with a white towel. A similar towel covered his waist. Once upstairs, he followed the hallway to the master bedroom. 

The polished redwood walls ran throughout the house, but in the bedrooms, a soft beige carpet replaced the slate. Two walls of glass windows faced Cascade, Puget Sound and the Olympics. On clear nights like this, he could see the very far distant lights of Port Townsend and Victoria. But tonight his vision focused on Sebastian. He was lying on their king-sized bed, wearing only his plaid boxers and his round, tortoise-shell glasses, reading Blair's notes. Didion remained at the doorway for a moment, admiring his lover. His thick black hair kept slipping over his eyes, and he brushed it back absent-mindedly as he continued to read. The way his black goatee accented the dark features of his face always took Didion's breath away. Didion's first meeting with Sebastian was in a restaurant in downtown Atlanta. 

Brian had introduced them. It was only when they were leaving, when Sebastian had said to Brian, "Have Collin call me when you get home," that he had realised Brian was involved with someone else. That was right before all the walls came crashing down. 

He looked down at his arms. Only with his vision and his heightened sense of touch could he detect the long healed burn scars. 

Didion left the doorway to come closer to the man who had made him redefine his life. Without Sebastian's usual turtle-necks, Didion could see the numerous tattoos on his lover's body. He had acquired most of them right after he left college. A large papal cross over his heart, obscured now by his dark chest hair. On one arm, a large clump of purple wisteria blossoms, with brown vines and dark green leaves twining around his bicep, down to his elbow. Didion climbed into bed, and Sebastian set Blair's notebook to the side along with his glasses. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. 

Not answering, Didion let his finger trace a thin scar that ran across Sebastian's chest, barely missing the cross tattoo. This scar always made his heart ache. /I'm going to lose you one day, Bass./ He hadn't made this scar, but he felt as if he had. /I did this to you. I'm putting you in too much danger./ 

"Stop it." 

Didion looked into Sebastian's dark eyes. 

"You have scars on _your_ body, too," Sebastian said. "Don't get so worked up when I get them. It comes with the territory." 

"Bass, I know that you and I work well together. And I know that with you, I'm better than when I was alone. I know you're my guide and that I have to have you near. But sometimes . . . I just can't forgive myself. You were living a normal life--" 

"I hated my life, Didion. It was empty and void and every morning I woke up I was dying of ennui. I don't regret my decision." 

"I know, Bass, I know. But I've gone through years of training for this kind of life." 

"I don't need training for what I do. You do. You're the . . ." 

"I'm the assassin. Say it, Bass. I'm the assassin. Every night you sleep with a killer. Someone who takes human life and then slips away." 

Sebastian closed his eyes. "I know. We've been through this a hundred times." 

"Before I met you, I never once gave it another thought. Now . . . now I look at you growing harder and harder, more like I was. I'm killing you, Bass. Either I'm putting you in the line of fire, or I'm changing who you are, slowly, day by day." 

They were silent for a few moments, looking into each other's eyes. "So, what can we do?" 

Didion leaned back against the headboard. "I don't know. They've got me on a leash. If I leave, they stop sending me the serum. If I stop taking the serum, I'll develop cancer like the others." 

"How long before you can take--" 

Didion covered Sebastian's mouth quickly, whispering, "Never say it out loud. Never. I'm sure this place is bugged." Sebastian nodded, and Didion uncovered his mouth. "Sachs-Rochemann has it in testing. I should know soon." 

"Will we know before . . ." 

He knew what Sebastian was trying to ask. "Before we harm Jim and Blair? . . . God, I hope so." 

"Is that why you're upset?" Didion didn't answer him. "I know you, Didion. You swim when you're upset. You've been swimming laps since they left." 

"I like them, Bass. I really like them both . . . a lot. I can't help seeing us . . . with them. Doing stupid things. Like watching football on Sundays. Or you and Blair in a bookstore." 

"So . . . what do you want to do?" 

"I don't know, babe. I guess we don't have much of a choice right now." 

"We shouldn't have made this personal." 

"Didn't have much choice. It's the only way we can pull a sentinel and a guide apart." He rubbed Sebastian's shoulder. "All we can do is make it as short and painless as possible, then leave forever. Put it behind us." 

"I know. What are you going to do next?" 

"Well, we start playing on Jim's fears. Then he should push Blair out of harm's way. Once they're separated, he should be too occupied to notice much of anything going on around him. And, I think Jim's going to need someone to distract him. I already have someone in mind. Then we do our jobs and we go away." He tapped the notebook. "What have you found out about the spiritual stuff?" 

"Blair says he doesn't know much about being a shaman, but you can't tell from looking at his notes." 

"Knowing it and doing it are two different things." 

"Yeah. I don't see any indications that he knows how to achieve a trance state himself. He has a few references of helping Jim do it, though. Or, I guess it's Jim. Blair calls him, 'Case Study'." 

"Are you going to show him how?" 

"I suppose it's the least I can do." He turned to face Didion. He was tired of talking about it. Casually, Sebastian opened the towel and spread it open. When Didion swam, he always did so in the nude. Sebastian found it extremely erotic. For Didion, it was a moment of release for him -- the sensation of the water flowing unimpeded around his body caused him to zone slightly, just enough to fall into a netherworld of pure thought. Sebastian looked over his lover's naked body. Didion was only thirty-five, and his body was perfectly toned. Beneath a light coloring of hair, his stomach was hard and ribbed. Sebastian stroked it with his fingertips, and Didion sighed with relief. His soft cock twitched slightly, rolling across his balls to lie against his thigh. Moving his hands up, Sebastian let his fingers slide underneath his lover's dark brown chest hair, felt the muscled pecs that rose like perfect ridges, making his upper body broad and his waist narrow. 

Then he saw the slight traces of gray hair that had only recently begun to grow there. Sebastian's dark assassin, his demon lover, the man he had converted from the dark side and who acted as Sebastian's Virgil escorting him through the circles of hell -- was getting older. And Didion was becoming more and more an angel of light. How much longer could Didion last, before Sebastian's effects on him weakened him too much, to the point when he would lose his edge and slip away as quickly and succinctly as his victims? Would Sebastian know when that day occurred? It was his greatest fear. Every day, when he was separated from Didion, he wondered whether Didion had just been caught by surprise, if he was dead. If it happened, no one would ever contact him. There was even a chance that his body would never be discovered. Didion would just slip out of Sebastian's life as easily and mysteriously as he had slipped in. 

Didion pulled him close and kissed his neck, loving the feel of Sebastian's hair brushing across his cheek. "I love you, Bass. I never thought I'd ever love anyone \-- man or woman. I promise you -- if I ever find a way out of this trap -- I'll take you away. I'll spoil you. We'll grow ancient together, two dottering old codgers who'll argue over who's getting the most fiber." Sebastian laughed slightly, and Didion pressed his lips against his lover's. Sebastian opened his mouth to let Didion claim him as he kissed him hard, pressing their bodies together. Didion hungered for these moments -- kissing Sebastian -- tasting him, feeling him with his lips and tongue, smelling his pheromones that reminded him of amber -- clear and hard. He ran his hands through Sebastian's silky hair. When he broke the kiss, Didion whispered, "I would die for you, and I would die without you. But either way, the past two and a half years we've been together have made my life worthwhile. It's made up for all those years of feeling nothing." Sebastian's eyes grew soft with a gentle smile. "If I died tomorrow, please know that I died happy and fulfilled." 

"I don't want to think about that." 

"Put Blair's notes away. Let's go to bed." 

Sebastian picked up the notebook and his glasses, and as he turned to walk toward the table on the opposite wall, Didion saw the huge tattoo that covered his back. It was a large dragon, in the shape of an S, its head at Sebastian's left shoulder, curving across his spine, ending above his buttocks. The work was intricate, and it had taken him several years to have it completed. Didion sighed a little when he saw it. Sebastian had told him once that he tattooed himself to mark the passage of a rough time in his life, and to redeem himself through the pain, like a penance. He had begun the dragon ten years ago, when his first boyfriend had ended his life violently. Sebastian had never allowed another man to be close to him again until he met Didion. Together, they were each other's salvation. The dragon's body was gold, with black outlines on its scales. A bright red wave of spines decorated its back, while from the dragon's lips grew blue and green whiskers that coiled and spiraled across Sebastian's back. In his hands, the dragon held I Ching coins. The first two coins were decorated, and Sebastian had chosen the images carefully. The first coin he filled in on his first lover's death -- it represented the mountains blocking the general's view, so that he couldn't marshall his troops. The second coin, which he had completed when he met Didion, represented the clouds opening up and filling the valleys with much needed rain. 

When he returned, Sebastian shucked his boxers and he slid onto the bed. Didion grabbed him by his inner thigh, near his groin, pulling him closer as his right arm wrapped around his shoulder. The assassin's muscled legs spread Sebastian's thighs apart before he covered him carefully with his larger body, most of his weight resting on his hip and elbow. Didion aimed for Sebastian's neck, knowing it was his most sensitive area. He marked him hard, hearing Sebastian's gasp for breath. /Tomorrow you'll need a turtle-neck to cover more than your tattoos,/ Didion thought to himself as he sucked harder. Sebastian's body arched and squirmed under his grip, his hands clasping Didion's arms like a vise. 

* * *

The call from Simon came while they drove to work that morning. Blair heard the chirp of Jim's cell phone and fell silent while Jim reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Although Jim wasn't paying much attention to Blair's ramble on the role of food in primitive versus civilized territorial squabbles, he was enjoying the rough timbre of his lover's voice. The ringing phone annoyed him. "Ellison." 

"Jim, it's Simon." 

"Yes sir." 

"Get to the corner of Forsythe and Denny. Some nutcase just bombed a nightclub there. I want you to help out on the scene." 

"Yes sir." Jim turned on his lights. 

"What's up?" 

"Nightclub on Forsythe and Denny's been bombed." 

"Jim, that's a gay bar." 

"Yeah, I know." As they drove closer, Jim felt an odd sense of deja-vu. The last time he and Blair had driven to a bombing scene, they were being drawn into a trap that would claim Blair's first lover and scar the younger man for life, physically and emotionally. A haunting fear crept over him, so that by the time they arrived at the nightclub's parking lot, Jim's stomach was cramped with nerves. He squeezed the steering wheel, his knuckles paled, and he stared blankly at the dashboard. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You're as scared as I am, aren't you?" Jim looked over at his partner and frowned slightly. Blair glanced out the truck window, distracted by the drops of water from the slight rain. "It's all right, Jim. Okay?" 

Neither said anything more as they stepped out of the truck. Joel Taggart was already on the scene, and when he saw the two, he waved them over. He handed Jim a piece of chalk. "Here, you've got good eyes. Start marking the shrapnel." Jim only nodded, then turned his vision toward the asphalt. As he did, his mind wandered to that day in spring when Marshall Aigle had set a bomb to lure the two of them into view. He looked over at Blair, who was standing beside him, shadowing his steps but remaining quiet. Jim stopped and listened to his heartbeat. There was no escalation in his rate, but he was still obviously troubled. When Jim touched his arm, Blair jumped. 

"Didn't mean to scare you." 

"I'm just . . ." Blair shook his head. 

Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his truck. "Here. Go on ahead to the station. I'll catch a ride with Joel." 

Blair smiled, but he didn't take the keys. "I love you, you know." 

"You don't need to be here, and it's only making you nervous." 

Blair stared at the keys. Since he had been here, his mind continually flashed the memory of Jack McClairy stepping out into the April sun and turning to Blair one last time before his face erupted as the bullet passed through. It was a disturbing vision that still found its way into his dreams. He wanted to be able to say to Jim that he was strong, that he had nerves of steel, but that was a lie. He wasn't hardened by violence, even after almost four years of riding with Jim. "I don't . . . I don't want you to think I'm a wimp." 

"You went through hell, Chief. And you should know by now that I think you've got strengths in places I don't have. . . . Here, take the keys. I don't think I'll be here long. Go start working on the paperwork for the Hemming case and I'll catch up with you." 

He took the keys and started walking toward the truck. Jim watched him leave, listening to his heart beat. A slight breeze toyed with Blair's hair. Jim focused on the sound of his heart moving away, and he dialed up his hearing to keep the connection. 

What he heard next made him stop breathing. Ticking. Coming from the metal dumpster not more than fifty feet away from Blair. 

"Blair!" 

The guide turned when he heard Jim's voice, and everything seemed to be in slow motion. Jim ran toward him, hard, his eyes stretched wide with fear. Slowly, Blair looked over his shoulder and he recognized the metal dumpster. His mind flashed back to the briefing they had had two years ago, after a series of bombings in Atlanta had alerted police to an alarming trend -- small bombs placed to lure police and media into the firing range of a much larger explosion. Blair broke into a run, racing down the driver's side of Jim's pick-up. He grabbed the tailgate and pulled himself quickly behind the back of the truck just as a heavy burst of sound erupted. Jim hit the ground with his arms protecting his head. The high-pitched piercing noise of hundreds of metal nails slicing through the sides of the dumpster and scraping against the asphalt and other cars hurt Jim's ears, but he tried to focus on Blair's heartbeat. 

Seconds later, Jim was running again to Blair's side. "Blair! Blair, are you all right?!" 

"I'm fine. I'm fine." He saw blood streaming from Jim's left shoulder. When Blair tried to touch it, Jim covered him with a tight embrace. The sentinel was hyperventilating and couldn't speak. "Jim, I'm all right. Calm down, okay. I'm fine." It was several moments before Jim relaxed enough to let Blair look at his shoulder. "Looks like it's just a small cut." 

"I don't care." 

"Well, I do." 

Taggart suddenly appeared at their side. "You guys okay?" 

"Yeah, we're fine," Jim answered. "Anybody else get hurt?" 

"Don't think so." He slapped Blair on the shoulder. "Three years of having Blair on the force, I guess everyone knows to hit the dirt when Jim starts running after you like that." 

"Hey Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Do me a favor." 

"What is it?" 

"When we get back, tell Simon not to send us to any more bombing scenes." 

"Consider it done, Chief. Consider it done." 

* * *

On the same day of the bombing, the Cascade Post printed a letter they had received from a group calling themselves "The Right Hand of God." It was typical fare, claiming the bombing had been done to bring attention to the decline in morals. Simon chewed on his cigar while Jim poured himself a cup of coffee. "Taggart's not happy, but he understands," Simon said. "The minute the Post announced they had that letter, the Feds snatched that case right out of our hands. Said it matches the bombings in Atlanta and Birmingham too closely and they're treating them as related for now. If they find enough differences, though, they said they'd turn it back over to us. But Taggart did ask if I would give it to you." 

"To me?" 

"Working with the Feds on his last case really burned him. He asked if I'd let someone else work with them. I figured you'd be the best man for it." 

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "Makes no difference to me, sir." 

"Good. Here's all the paperwork so far. They just put an agent from Atlanta on it. He should be here tomorrow morning. Can you pick him up? Here's his flight information." 

Jim took the information from Simon and walked out to his desk. He'd have to pick up the agent at nine the next morning. /No big deal./ Jim opened his desk drawer to file the bombing reports. 

What he saw inside made his heart skip a beat. Slowly, he pulled the drawer out completely. Resting across the hanging files was a magazine, its pages folded back to one photograph. It was a naked young man, probably Latin, with long, curly black hair and olive skin. His legs were spread in a lewd pose. A note was stapled to the page, and Jim had no trouble reading the laser-printed letters. 

LOOKS A LOT LIKE YOUR LITTLE WHORE 

Then Jim noticed it. Someone had drawn a red circle on the model's chest, in the exact spot where Blair had been shot. 

Fear swept over him, so strongly that Jim couldn't move. He forced himself to open the top drawer and pull out the large metal tweezers that he used at crime scenes. Jim pried off the note, slipped it into a plastic bag, then let his anger take over as he ripped the porn magazine into shreds. 

* * *

Jim felt like everyone was watching him as, fifteen minutes later, he scanned the bullpen, but no one made eye contact. No one's heartbeat was irregular. No one smelled any differently. Frustrated, Jim left the room, hoping for some fresh air. As he walked, he stared mainly at his feet and at the speckled linoleum floor. Suddenly, a shadow came too close and Jim didn't have time to react before crashing into someone. First he felt the hard muscle, then he saw the dark green cloth of the stranger's slacks and his double-breasted suit before Jim saw his face and recognized him. "Didion? What are you doing here?" 

"Jim, buddy, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." 

"Why are you here?" 

"Man, I'm lost. I'm trying to find . . ." He pulled a business card from his breast pocket. "Commissioner Helen Anderson." 

"She's down here." 

Didion followed behind him. He noticed the blood pressure sounded tight in Jim's veins. "Jim? You all right?" 

Jim looked at him. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were hard. "Yeah. Just fucking fantastic." 

"Want to talk about it?" 

"No." 

"Okay." 

"What are you doing with Anderson?" Jim asked to change the subject. 

"She's volunteering some of her time to one of the charities I'm sponsoring." 

"Charities?" 

"Gotta do something to kill my time." 

Jim shook his head, but his expression wasn't friendly. "Must be nice. Anderson's office is right over there." 

"Thanks. Hey, wanna have drinks one afternoon?" 

"No." Jim walked away without saying good bye. Didion watched him leave and his shoulders sagged slightly. He had expected Jim's rebuff, but he wasn't quite sure why it affected him as much as it did. 

* * *

Jim was backing away, and Blair could feel it coming closer. "Jim, don't!" Behind him, the rumbling grew louder. Jim broke into a run, and Blair tried to chase after him. "Jim! Help me!" Blair's feet splashed into the puddles in the dark street, water hitting his thighs, when suddenly he felt a cold vise snatch him, piercing his calf muscle and dragging him down. 

The dog leapt onto his back, barking. "Jim! Help me!" The massive dog's teeth scraped against the back of his head, robbing Blair of speech before tearing into his spine and ribs. The bump of the dog's teeth against his bones rattled his body. 

Blair's eyes snapped open and he jerked up in bed, flailing his arms in defense. 

"Blair! Blair, it's all right! It's just another dream!" 

He sat still for a moment, unable to catch his breath. 

Jim asked softly, "Where can I touch you?" 

"Not . . . not my back." 

Jim caressed his chest gently. "It's okay, baby.' Slowly, he pulled Blair into his arms. "I've got you." Once Blair started to relax, Jim whispered, "I don't know what else to do, baby. Do you . . . do _we_ need to see a doctor?" 

"I don't . . . I don't know. I don't want to." 

Jim slowly rubbed his arms. He hadn't told Blair about the magazine and the note. Jim had given the slip of paper to Forensics to test, but he hadn't said where it had come from. "It's just a case," he had said. With Blair having these nightmares every night, Jim just couldn't bring himself to tell Blair. /It would just panic him more./ Jim kissed him softly on the forehead. 

* * *

At the Cascade Airport, Jim stood statue-stiff by the gate, holding a small posterboard sign with the Cascade police logo pre-printed on it. In black felt-tip, he had scrawled AGENT WHITMORE. His face was brutally stiff and emotionless, as if he had turned everything off, waiting for some stimulus to bring him to life. Only his eyes moved when he saw people begin to exit the plane. 

Blair sidled up to him with his hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to look over the crowd. "What does this guy look like?" he asked. 

Jim glanced over at him. "If I knew, would I be standing here like a dork holding this sign?" 

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Blair teased. 

Jim smacked him across the top of his head with the posterboard then returned to holding it stiffly against his chest. 

A few minutes later, a tall thirty-year old man with boyish dimples and light brown hair cut extremely short approached Jim with outstretched hand. "I'm Agent Whitmore," he said with a grin. 

Jim shook his hand, "Detective Jim Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." 

"Pleased to meet you," Blair said with a wave. 

"You came from Vice, right?" the agent asked. 

Blair rolled his eyes in answer, so Jim interrupted. "We're from Major Crimes." 

"Will I be working with you, then?" 

"Yes." 

"Good. Then call me Lee. I don't like standing on formalities." 

Jim just shrugged his shoulders. "Do you want to go by the station first, or to your hotel?" 

"The hotel will be fine," Lee said as he started walking toward baggage claim. "There's a car rental down the street from there, so I'll pick up a car and drive myself to the station." 

"Okay." 

"So what's your background, Jim?" 

Jim thought that was an odd question. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, have you always been a cop?" 

"No, I was a Ranger before this." 

Lee slapped him on the shoulder. "See, I thought you were ex-military. I was a Navy pilot, myself." 

For some reason, Lee was beginning to rub Jim the wrong way. "So, I thought most pilots went on to fly jets for a living." 

Lee didn't seem to notice the backhanded comment. "Didn't care for it. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love to fly, and I still have my license, but I didn't want that kind of life, you know? Flying a bunch of ungrateful tourists from Atlanta to Dallas to La Guardia to LAX. Just wasn't what I wanted to be doing. I dig excitement, man. So I joined up with the Feds. What about you, Blair. How long have you been a cop?" 

"I'm not a cop." 

Lee jerked his head slightly. "Are you guys shitting me?" 

"I'm an anthropologist. I'm writing my dissertation on closed societies, so I'm riding with Jim as an official observer." 

"Man, the Pacific Northwest is just too liberal for my blood. No wonder some fruitcake is trying to blow you guys up." 

Blair froze in his tracks and watched as Jim and Lee kept walking. He could barely control his rage. Jim stopped and returned for him, holding him by the elbow. "Easy, Chief. I promise I'll kick his ass later." 

"I'm gonna hold you to that one." 

* * *

After dropping Lee off at the hotel, Blair and Jim stepped into the bullpen a little more subdued than usual. Blair was tired, and Jim was still unnerved by yesterday's magazine and its threatening note. The first thing he wanted to do was call down to Forensics and check on that note, but he didn't want Blair to overhear him. He sat down at his desk and said, "Hey, how 'bout check my mail for me?" 

"Yeah yeah yeah," Blair mumbled as he walked away. 

Jim reached for the phone, and as he started dialing, something distracted him. A second later, he realized it was Blair's heartbeat shooting through the roof. Jim dropped the phone and rushed over to him. His guide was completely frozen, his breath short and quick, his hand trapped inside his mailbox. "Blair? Blair, you okay, buddy?" 

His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. Jim pulled his hand out of the mail slot and found Blair's hand gripping something fiercely. Then Jim recognized it -- a studded dog collar, made of thick black leather and designed more for a man than an animal. A wave of heat washed from Blair's body as sweat beaded on his forehead. He knew Blair was about to pass out from fear, and Jim grabbed his shoulders and forced him to sit down. "Blair," he whispered, "it's okay. Don't go into a panic attack. Breathe. Come on, man, breathe." Blair slipped his head between his knees, and Jim stroked his back. 

Blair still clutched the dog collar in his hands. When Jim tried to pull it away from him, Blair wouldn't let go. "Come on, man, give it to me." His knuckles were turning white. Jim had to pry it loose from his fingers, but once the leather touched his hand, his anger sparked. Jim spun around, his shoulders curving with anger and his jaw muscles straining. "Who the hell did this?!" 

Everyone turned around. "Did what?" Rafe asked. 

Jim flung the collar to the floor. "This! Who the fuck did this?!" 

Simon stepped out of his office and saw the leather collar. "What's going on out here?" 

But Jim was distracted by someone tugging on his pants. "Blair?" The young man was extremely pale and shaking. Jim knelt down to look into his eyes. "What is it?" 

"G-g-g-g-et me out of here." 

Jim lifted him to his feet and helped him toward the bathroom as Simon shouted, "Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on here?!" 

* * *

He sat Blair down on the bathroom counter, then turned on the cold water to wet a handful of paper towels. Shaking slightly himself, Jim wiped Blair's face. "It's okay, baby. It's okay. Don't let it scare you. Don't let it do this to you. Take a deep breath." 

The bathroom door flew open and Simon burst in. "Jim?" Jim shot him an angry glance before returning his attention to Blair. With a softer voice, Simon asked, "Is he okay?" 

Jim cupped his hands around Blair's face a little too roughly. "Blair, I haven't told anyone about the dreams. No one. It's a slave collar. It's not meant for dogs. It's not the dog from the dreams." 

"But don't you get it?!" Blair suddenly shouted, his voice frantic. "The dog is here!" 

"What dog?" Simon asked. 

Jim looked at Simon, then answered, "We keep having nightmares about a black dog attacking us." 

"It's not _we_." 

Simon stared at Blair for a moment before he said, "I was afraid something like this would happen." 

Jim ignored him and he brushed Blair's hair back. "It's just someone trying to intimidate us. It has nothing to do with the dreams." 

Blair eyed him hard. "It has everything to do with the dreams, Jim. We dream in symbols. This place -- the dog is here in this place. In the dreams, it always made you run away. Don't you see? The dog made you scared and you ran away and you let it eat me. The Army made you scared and you ran away from Tom. The dog is in here and it's--and you're going away--it's going to scare you away again--" 

Simon pushed himself into Blair's line of vision. "Now you listen here, Sandburg. Dreams or no dreams, Jim Ellison is not that easy to scare." Jim swallowed hard and looked down at his feet, suddenly unsure of himself. "Now, get a hold of yourself, kid." 

Jim gently pulled him away. "Simon, let me take care of it. Go back and find out who did this." Simon stared at them for a moment, then nodded before he left. Once he was gone, Jim pulled Blair into a fierce hug. "Let it out," he whispered. 

"No." 

"Come on. Let it out. I'm holding you. 

"I won't cry here." 

"I'm not going to let you go." 

"I'm okay. I'm just shaken up a bit." 

"You sure?" 

"I'll be all right in a minute." 

"Fine," Jim said. "But I'm still not letting go of you." 

* * *

When they stepped back into the bullpen, everyone looked at them quietly. Jim glared hard at the others, and each time he made eye contact with someone, he or she would look away. Finally, Rafe stepped over. Jim could read the obvious concern in his eyes and he didn't chase him off. Rafe sat down on his ankles in front of the academic's chair and said, "Blair?" 

"Yeah?" 

"We didn't do this." 

Blair couldn't speak. 

Henri looked up at him from across the room. "He's right, Blair. We've been asking everyone. We wouldn't do a thing like that to you . . . or Jim." 

Rafe added, with a suddenly vicious voice, "But the minute I find the goddamn bastard that did this, I'm gonna break his fucking legs." 

"Not if I find him first," Rhonda said coldly, then returned to her paperwork. 

"Thanks, guys. That means a lot to me." 

"You're one of us now, Blair," Rafe said. "And nobody fucks with one of us." 

None of this made Jim any less angry. He sorted his mail roughly, flipping letter past letter when a small beige slip of paper fell from the clump onto his desk. 

WOOF WOOF 

Jim slipped the paper into his shirt pocket and stood up. "I'm going downstairs. I'll be back in a second." 

Blair watched him leave. /He didn't even ask me to go with him./ 

* * *

Jim frowned darkly as he made his way back from the lab. Forensics hadn't been able to tell him anything about the note he had found stapled to yesterday's porno magazine. The lettering was a common font found on most laser printers. The paper was common, too -- Strathmore Linen with a simple watermark that could be purchased at any office supply store. It was void of any fingerprints. 

When he saw the elevator door open and Lee Whitmore step out, he almost groaned. "Hey, Jimmy! What kind of luck is this?" 

/Bad./ 

"Where's our office?" 

"Our?" 

"Yeah, man. Where can I throw my stuff down?" 

"In here, I guess." As they started toward Major Crimes, Lee stopped. 

"Holy shit! Would you look at that?" He stared at two people coming down the hall. "Hey! Sad Sach!" 

Didion Sachs was walking with Commissioner Anderson. He stopped, looked up, then frowned. Jim heard him say, "Thanks for meeting with me again, Commisioner. I'll get back in touch with you soon." They shook hands, then the Commisioner left him in the hallway, and Didion approached. Jim could tell he was reluctant, and he shot Jim a wary glance. "So, Lee Whitmore. I see I have the misfortune of running into you again." 

"Yeah, looks like it. So what the hell are you doing here? Still working security?" 

"No. I live here now." 

"No shit?" 

Jim interrupted, "You, two . . . know each other?" 

"Hell, yeah!" Lee said with a punch to Didion's arm. "We hung out together during the Olympics, didn't we?" 

"If you could call it that. Lee worked on the investigation of the Olympic bombing," he said to Jim. Then he turned to Lee, "So tell me, how much money did you have to pay Richard Jewell for your little fuck-up? A few hundred million?" 

Jim tried to suppress a smile. Lee didn't seem too phased as he frowned back at Didion. "Yeah, well, we got the real guy on the run now." 

"And that means," Didion turned his hand in a circle, "that you can't find him?" 

"Matter of time, my friend, matter of time." 

"So why the hell are you here?" 

"We think the bomb that went off here in Cascade might be related. Follows the same pattern. I'm here to track it down." 

"I see. Hope you find him real soon. And don't arrest the security guard this time. I'll catch you later, Jim." Didion started to leave, when Lee called out. 

"Hey, Sad Sach? How 'bout a game of one-on-one later?" 

Didion stepped closer. "What are you talking about?" 

"You know," Lee winked. Then he whispered into Didion's ear, but Jim listened in, "What? You want me to come up with a cute little metaphor?" 

Didion rolled his eyes, frowned at Jim, then left without saying another word. 

* * *

For the rest of the day, Jim's silence frightened Blair a great deal. Blair had left the station early, and when Jim came home, he kissed Blair on the forehead, then sat down on the couch. He focused on the television and only spoke begrudgingly. At ten o'clock, he turned to Blair and said, "I'm going to bed early tonight." 

"Okay." 

Blair followed soon after him. Jim was already in bed, his back turned to Blair's side of the mattress. Blair undressed and slipped under the covers. Neither made any move to touch the other. Finally, Blair whispered, "Jim, I could really use you tonight." 

Jim squeezed his eyes tight, hesitating, before rolling over to spoon himself behind Blair. 

"I love you, you know?" Blair said. 

"Yeah, I know." 

"But I have to tell you that the dog collar doesn't scare me half as much as your reaction to it." 

"Blair, that dog collar was a threat. How do you expect me to react when someone threatens you?" 

"By protecting me. By not abandoning me." 

Jim couldn't say anything. He couldn't even squeeze Blair to comfort him. "I . . . I didn't realize I was doing that. I'm sorry." Even as he said it, he knew he was lying. "But I'm here now. I'm not going away." 

"What are we going to do?" 

"I don't know, Chief. Take it one day at a time, I guess." 

* * *

They both expected some other taunt when they returned to the station the next day, but there was nothing in their mail boxes. The others tried to keep Blair's mind off it with small talk, and by ten o'clock, both men were feeling a little more at ease. 

Simon's voice startled them when he shouted into the bullpen, "Listen up, everyone!" The bullpen grew quiet. "I just got word from the mayor's office that Cascade has been selected to host the Latin American Economic Summit next month." 

"I thought that was taking place in Seattle," Rafe said. 

"They've been making simultaneous plans to hold it in Seattle, Portland or Cascade, and they were going to make the decision as to which city got it at the last minute for security reasons. The professional hit on Anthony Caldwell made the Summit knock Seattle from the list. Now the mayor wants this to go without a hitch." 

"Why the security precautions?" Jim asked. 

Blair answered, "Because one of the delegations will be from Cuba, and they've already received threats from Cuban emigree groups. And then one of the economic ministers from Nicaragua is a former Sandinista who most believe is corrupt and involved in several drug cartels." 

"Sandburg, where do you find out about this stuff?" Simon asked. 

He looked a little sheepish. "Sorry. I heard about it on campus. There's a group of student activists who plan to protest at the conference, wherever it's going to be." 

Simon rolled his eyes. "That's another thing we've got to watch out for. There's going to be --" he looked at Blair "-- a lot of protesters out there." 

"So what are _we_ doing?" Henri asked. 

"In a few days, we'll be getting word from the Secret Service and the FBI on security details during the conference." There were several groans from the bullpen. "Now, listen up! The mayor is riding my ass on this. You will work with these agencies to the best of your abilities and there will be no griping on this one. We've got some serious heavies coming into this town. Oh, and in the meantime, Jim, stick close to Lee Whitmore and get whatever he asks. The mayor demands that we find something . . . anything . . . to get that case rolling and out of the papers before the Latin Summit chooses Portland instead. All right, you people, don't just stand around. Get back to work!" 

Jim leaned over to Blair as he stood up. "You heard the man. Let's go." He reached into the desk drawer for a notepad. 

"Where are we going?" 

"Lee gave me a witness he wants me to interview." He handed Blair his jacket. When he did, a piece of paper fell to the floor. Jim recognized the beige color, and he picked it up quickly before Blair could see it. 

WATCH ME SPOT BLAIR 

Jim quickly scanned the bullpen. No one seemed even interested in them. No accelerated heartbeats. No smell of apprehension. 

"Jim? What is it?" 

He looked at Blair. "Nothing. It's nothing." He crumpled the note into a tiny ball and angrily shot it into the wastebasket. "Let's go." As they passed into the hall, Jim instinctively patted Blair's right shoulder. A sudden pin-prick bit his finger. "Ow! Shit!" Jim shook his hand frantically. 

"What? What's going on?" 

Jim grabbed Blair by the shoulders and examined his back. In no time he spotted the tiny point of the needle that had pricked him. "Take off your jacket." 

"Jim, what is it?" 

Jim opened Blair's jacket, and they both fell silent when they saw the small red circle of cloth pinned to the inside. It was the same spot as Blair's scar, where Marshall Aigle's bullet had sliced through his body. 

"Jim, what's going on here?" 

Jim rushed into the bullpen, snatching open desk drawers to find another plastic bag and his tweezers. Blair followed him in, and Jim lifted the needle from the jacket. Once the cloth was free, Jim smelled it. It had a strong scent to it. Jim tried to catalog it, remembering all the tests Blair had run him through, then suddenly he knew what it was. "This thing smells like rosemary." 

Blair shuddered. "Rosemary . . . for remembrance," he recited the adage. 

Jim slipped it into the bag. "Let's get this down to Forensics." 

* * *

Concluded in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Time Does Not Bring Relief

By Kadru

Author's homepage: <http://www.mindspring.com/~kadru/index.html>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Time Does Not Bring Relief -- part three  
By Kadru 

Again, Forensics wasn't much help. The lab confirmed the rosemary extract, but the fabric was a rough velvet. If a fingerprint had been left on the cloth, it would have been too distorted to identify. 

As they left for the parking garage, Blair followed behind Jim, trying to read his emotions. His body frame seemed so tight, each muscle contracted and strained. As Blair thought about it, the threats didn't frighten him nearly as much as his fear of Jim's reaction to it. The dog collar had thrown the younger man hard -- it fit so easily into his nightmares that Blair felt touched by the supernatural. Now there was this red dot that precisely matched his bullet wound. Someone was not playing games with them. This was serious. And Blair was having a hard time dealing with the constant panic attack his life was becoming. The past couple of days were wearing him thin. 

But it wasn't the threats he found himself paranoid over. Instead, it was the ever-present fear that he would lose Jim the way Tom, Jim's first lover, had. 

Jim opened the door to the truck and froze. Blair stood at the passenger side door, waiting for Jim to unlock it, when he noticed Jim standing still, holding the driver's door open. "What?" Jim didn't answer him, and Blair walked around the front of the truck. 

Blair didn't have to be a sentinel to smell the strong scent of mint. Jim reached into the truck, to the passenger side, and pulled out a small red velvet circle that had been pinned to the seat, lining up with where Blair's heart would have been. He pressed the velvet between his thumb and forefinger, releasing more of the smell of mint. /No human scent,/ he realized, and that suddenly caused his spine to snap even straighter. 

"It's another circle, isn't it?" Blair asked. Jim didn't answer, and he didn't need to. Blair added, "And it smells like mint, doesn't it? That's where the mint smell is coming from?" 

"Blair, I can't smell anything else but the herbs. It's covering up everything." 

His guide's eyes grew wide. "Jim, it has to be something else." 

"Somebody knows I can smell a human scent. Somebody knows I can identify who's doing this if they don't cover it up with something stronger." 

"It can't be that, Jim. That has to be a coincidence. Simon and Ian are the only ones who know about you, and they wouldn't do a thing like this. So, let's don't jump to conclusions, okay?" Jim pounded his fist on the hood, and the blast of sound echoed off the concrete walls. "Hey hey hey! Calm down, man. Breathe, breathe." 

"I don't want to fucking calm down! I want to fucking hit somebody! I want to hit whoever's doing this so goddamn hard that my hand hurts! I want . . ." Jim started pacing frantically. Blair grabbed him by the arms and shook him. 

"I know you do, Jim. I know you do. But these jerks can't *do* anything to us. All they can do is make threats and try to scare us. But Jim, listen to me--" Jim stopped struggling with Blair, but he still couldn't look into his guide's eyes. "If they wanted to hurt me, they would have done so already. And they aren't threatening you." Blair paused. "Are they? Are they threatening you, too, and you just haven't told me?" 

"No." 

"Then okay." He touched Jim's face. "Jim, I'm not scared." 

"You're lying." 

"Okay, okay, I am scared, but I'm not scared of these threats." He squeezed down on Jim's chin hard. "I'm scared of you." 

"Of me?" 

"Don't push me away, Jim." Blair's voice was fierce. "Do you hear me? Don't you even think of pushing me away. Whoever is doing this knows us well. They know about me getting shot, and they know we're together. So just hang tough, okay? We've had scarier people come after us and we still beat them. Eventually, they're gonna slip up and make a mistake. We just have to be ready for them. Understand?" 

Jim took a deep breath to calm himself. 

"Are you okay, now?" Blair asked. 

"No, I'm not okay." Jim rolled his head around to relax his neck muscles. "Come on. Let's at least get some work done." He climbed into the truck, then leaned over to unlock Blair's door. 

Neither said a word as they drove out of the parking garage. Jim eased onto the street, headed toward the light, waiting for it to turn green. As it did, Jim turned to the left, into the full glare of the sun. Instinctively, both men reached for their visors to block the sunlight, and when they did, packets of condoms fell into their laps. Jim immediately slammed on brakes, his tires squealing in chorus with the cars behind him. Horns blared, but he ignored them as he looked over at Blair, who was picking up a few of the condoms and staring. Jim looked down at his own lap littered with condom foils and one beige note. 

THESE WON'T KEEP BLAIR SAFE. 

* * *

"Again," Didion said as he raised his bamboo practice sword over his head. His body shone with sweat, and his gray tee shirt and shorts were drenched. 

Standing across from him on the padded floor of their gym, Sebastian lifted his practice sword. His gray shorts and tee shirt were just as soaked, and his chest heaved. All he could do was nod. 

Didion bore down on him, his wooden blade flashing. Sebastian let go of his conscious will and allowed his instincts to take control of the sword. He parried easily, then again, each movement smooth and efficient with just the slightest changes in body posture and handling. The striking of their blades grew more and more rapid. 

Didion spun the blade over his head and directed it lengthwise. Sebastian's arms pulled up to block the move and as he did, Sebastian gambled that Didion was targeting his midsection and his sword fell low to block the strike. Didion knew what was about to happen but he couldn't stop his blow in time before he struck Sebastian full-force against the cheekbone under his right eye. When he felt the contact reverberate through the blade, Didion released his grip on the handle and reached for Sebastian instead as he fell to the floor. As they dropped, Didion landed on his knees, pulling Sebastian toward his chest and across his thighs. 

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sputtered as he held his lover tight. Sebastian wasn't too sure what was happening, and the blow knocked him senseless for a moment. "Are you okay? Bass? Bass, are you all right? Bass! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry--" 

"Didion," he tried, but he couldn't break through his lover's litany. "Didion!" Didion pulled back to look at his face, and Sebastian couldn't help but smile at the overwhelming expression of concern. "I'm okay." Didion brushed the wet black hair from Sebastian's eyes to look at his cheekbone already turning dark red. 

"Damnit, I bruised you. I'm sorry, baby. I thought you knew what I was doing and--" 

"Didion. Enough. I didn't focus on matching your body moves and I thought you were going for my mid-section." 

"I wasn't--" 

"Didion, listen to me. I *thought* about it." 

"You're not supposed to think about it, Bass. Just do it." 

"I know that, Teach." 

Didion sighed, still holding onto Sebastian. He hated teaching his lover self-defense of this sort. Looking into his eyes, he thought, /You should be wasting your life in some university teaching a bunch of kids Plato or something just as stupid./ Then he traced his lover's diagonal scar through the cloth of his tee shirt. /You shouldn't have to worry about this happening to you again./ 

"Didion, stop worrying." 

"I can't help it. I love you." 

"I came across something in Blair's notes that you might find interesting." 

"What?" Didion asked. 

"Blair calls Jim his 'Blessed Protector.'" 

Didion kissed him on the forehead. "Is it genetic, then?" he asked. "Or is it because Jim loves him so much?" 

"Chicken and the egg kind of question, I'd say." 

Still, Didion was upset. He stroked Sebastian's back to reassure himself that his guide was all right. 

"Hey, babe?" Sebastian nudged. "I recall a time when you would leave my body all black and blue and then you would bark at me because I wasn't trying hard enough." 

"I know. I was an ass then. I just . . . I just didn't want to see you put in a hospital again." 

"That's only happened once." 

"It only needs to happen once. When another assassin comes for me, they're always going to go for you first. I can't protect you every day. Besides," he smiled slightly, "one of these days people are going to start buying Collin's story that I'm the one beating you and then I'll have hell to pay." 

"You just wait," Sebastian teased. "Sooner or later I'm going to catch you off-guard and lay on bruise on you the size of a watermelon." 

"Not today, you won't." He kissed Sebastian, then said, "You know, I was a fool when I married you." 

"Yeah, I know. But I was in love and I didn't mind at the time." 

"Oh, really? Don't get smart with me." 

"And how would you know?" 

Didion smiled slightly. "Just when I wonder how you and Collin can be related, you spout off some smart-ass wise crack. Makes me afraid of the rest of your family." 

"Be afraid. Be very afraid." 

"Come on. Let's go put some ice on that shiner before it gets too swollen." 

"Yes, Mr. Protector." 

"Please, call me Blessed." 

* * *

Blair didn't feel much like cooking once they got home. He stood over the stove for several minutes, staring at the circular burners, then Jim slipped up behind him. "Chief, let's call for a pizza." 

"I . . . I need to walk." 

"Okay, how about if we walk down the street to the Pagoda?" 

"I guess. Let me get my coat." 

Dinner was still quiet, and Blair pushed around his chow mein with his chopsticks. He stared out the window, watching it rain. As it let up, Jim said, "Come on, Chief. We should head out now before it starts up again." 

Once outside, Blair suddenly felt a cold chill jerk his muscles. The cloudy sky made the night even darker, and the road and buildings sparkled from the reflection of the street lamps. "What's the matter, Chief?" 

"Deja vu, man, and the worst kind." 

Jim patted his shoulder. "No dogs around, Chief." 

As they walked back to the loft, Blair noticed that Jim was strolling a few steps behind him. He stopped with his hands on his hips. 

"What?" Jim asked, confused. 

"You know, you could still, like, walk *beside* me, man. I mean, I'm not asking you to hold my hand or anything, but you could at least act like you did when we *weren't* together." 

Jim looked down at his feet, guilty. "I . . ." 

Barking stopped Jim's confession. Both men wrenched around quickly to see the large black dog stalking them. Blair panicked. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god--" 

Jim threw himself between Blair and the dog. "Don't panic, Chief. It can sense fear." 

"That's because I'm shitting in my pants!" 

"Damnit, I should have brought my gun. I should have brought my gun." 

"You don't have your gun?!" 

Jim looked over his shoulder. "There's one in the truck. Come on, walk toward it slowly." The dog snarled, flashing its teeth. Jim took out his keys and stripped his jacket off. "Here." He wrapped it around Blair's right arm. 

"Jim, what are you doing?" 

"If the dog attacks, hold this arm out in front of you so the teeth won't break your skin. Now, come on. Back up slowly and head for the truck." 

Blair's heart pounded against his chest. The dog crept closer, its fangs white and snapping with each bark. Then everything happened so fast. The dog sprang, its mouth open wide, and Blair had only a second to shove out his jacket-protected arm. Its jaws clamped down on his arm and Blair could feel the crunch of bone. The pain was so sudden and unexpected that Blair didn't have time to shout as he fell backwards. "Jim!" Blair took his eyes off the dog long enough to see Jim sprinting for the truck. "Jim!" 

The dog let go. Blair turned back to see what was happening just as it lunged for his face, ripping at Blair's mouth with an angry kiss. 

* * *

Blair's eyes opened to complete darkness and his entire body shook. He tried to get out of their bed but his dream-struggles had wrapped the sheets around his legs. His chest ached from fear and his lungs heaved for breath so hard that his entire body bobbed up and down. He felt like he was choking and when he turned to grab Jim's hand, his heart skipped a beat, painfully. 

Jim wasn't there. 

Blair sat in the empty bed, more alone than he had ever felt before, and his body finally found its voice as he broke into a soft, pitiful wail. Then the exhaustion-fueled sobbing started. Blair shifted his feet to the floor and forced his head between his knees to keep from fainting. 

Downstairs, Jim sat on the edge of the sofa cushions, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He had heard Blair's heartbeat grow from an easy, rested pace into a frightening panic, but he couldn't move. /I just . . . I just . . . I'm just so tired of this . . . every single night . . . . and it's my fault. If he and I weren't together, he wouldn't be having these nightmares./ But as the sound of Blair's panic attack reached him, Jim suddenly felt guilty. He shook his head. /What's wrong with you! Go to him, damnit! He's your lover. You have an obligation to be there for him./ Jim picked himself up and slowly climbed the stairs. He knelt down in front of Blair and gently stroked his hair. "Hey, you okay there, buddy?" 

"So fucking real," Blair mumbled. 

"Real or not, it was just a dream." 

"I know." Blair lifted his head. "I'm okay." 

"You don't look okay." 

"It's . . . it's stupid." 

"Nothing that makes you this scared is stupid to me." 

"It's just that . . . you weren't here when I woke up." 

Jim pushed his hands under Blair's armpits and set him back on the bed. "I'm here now," he whispered as he covered his guide with his body. He pushed his lips against Blair's, kissing him hard. Blair returned the kiss weakly, and when Jim moved down to suck on his neck, Blair spoke. 

"You're going to leave me." 

Jim stopped with a sigh. He waited a second, then began biting on Blair's neck again. Tonight, he would use his hunger to sublimate his growing apprehension that Blair was right. 

* * *

At the police station, the elevator door opened, and Collin and Blair stepped out. Collin was laughing, but Blair could only force a grin. "What's wrong with you today?" Collin asked. 

"Rough night." 

Collin pulled back Blair's hair to expose the mark Jim had left. "If you and Jim keep this up, you'll need to copy Bass and start wearing turtlenecks all the time." He looked around at the station and smiled. "Been a long time since I was in a bullpen," Collin mentioned wistfully. 

"Does it look the same?" 

"No, not really. Well, I mean, all the uniforms look the same." 

"Major Crimes is over here." 

They stepped into the bullpen, and Collin saw Jim sitting at his desk. "Hey, big guy. So this is where y'all work." 

Jim stood up quickly. "Collin? What are you doing here?" 

"Sit. Relax. I was dropping Blair off and I wanted to see what the place looks like." 

From across the room, Lee saw Collin, and he squinted his eyes slightly. As he came closer, he interrupted them. "Hey, excuse me." 

Collin turned to face him, and Jim heard his heart beat accelerate. "Yes?" 

"Don't I know you?" 

"I doubt it," Collin said with a graceful smile. He started to leave, but Lee stopped him. 

"No. You look familiar." He recognized the southern accent and asked, "Didn't you used to live in Atlanta?" 

Collin swallowed hard, then replied, "Must have been that prison porn movie we were in together. 'Wife of the Man with the Most Cigarettes'?" Lee stared at him blankly, his mouth slightly open. Collin leaned down to a smirking Jim and Blair, winked, then said, "I'll see y'all later." 

Once he left, Jim and Blair burst into laughter. Lee eyed them hard before leaving. "How the hell could I forget that guy?" 

Jim shot Blair a quick look before Blair scrambled to put himself in front of Lee. "Whoa whoa whoa!" He held up his hands. "Did you really know Collin in Atlanta?" 

Lee looked back toward the elevator bank as if he expected Collin to still be standing there. "He dated one of the uniforms. I remember all that went down when they broke up." Then he grew quiet and walked around Blair. 

"Wait a minute. That's it?!" Blair shouted. "That's all you're going to tell us?" 

Lee just waved his hand. 

* * *

"Treat you to lunch, Chief?" Jim asked as they walked down the sidewalk. The day was sunny and warm, and both Jim and Blair felt a little better now that they were out of the station. 

"Hot dogs, right?" Blair pointed to the hot dog stand ahead of them. 

"Still the best ones in town." 

As they stood by the hot dog stand, loading their hot dogs with condiments, Blair looked up and spotted Sebastian coming out of the bookstore nearby. "Hey, Bass!" 

Sebastian turned to face them, his expression unreadable behind his dark sunglasses. He shifted his bag to his other hand as he approached the stand. "Hey guys. Uhm, shouldn't y'all be at a donut shop or something?" he teased. Then he smelled Blair's hot dog. "Hmm, that looks good. Is that cole slaw on there?" 

"Sauerkraut." 

Sebastian wrinkled his face. "Eww." 

"And cole slaw would be better?" 

"Let me guess. Y'all don't do that up here." Sebastian turned to look across the street, and when he did, Jim and Blair noticed the large bruise under his eye. Blair immediately set his hot dogs down on the counter and touched Sebastian's chin. At Blair's touch, he quickly jerked away like he had been stung. 

"What the hell happened?" 

"Nothing," Sebastian said. "It was an accident." 

"Did Didion hit you?" Blair asked. 

"No, he didn't." 

"How did it happen?" 

"It's none of your business, Blair." 

Blair ignored him. "How did it happen?" 

"It's stupid." 

"Then tell me." 

"When I was downstairs in the pool room, I slipped on the wet floor. I hit my head on the rail leading into the pool. Okay? Look, I need to go. Didion's waiting on me to have lunch with him. But it was good seeing y'all. Give me a call one weekend and we'll do something. Bye." 

Once he was out of hearing range, Jim said, "He was lying." 

"I don't need to be a sentinel to know that." Blair looked back at his hot dog, suddenly losing his appetite. "I . . . I guess I gave him more credit." 

"Who? Bass? Or Didion?" 

Blair watched Sebastian climb into his car and drive away. "Both, I guess. . . . And I expected Bass to come up with a better explanation than the old 'falling into a door' routine." 

"Don't judge him too hard. I doubt Bass knew what he was getting into when he met a guy like Didion." 

"You know, Jim," Blair started, his voice still angry as he picked up his hot dogs, "in some parts of Africa, men and women don't get to know each other until after they're married." 

"I can relate to that," Jim replied, pinching Blair's side. 

He realized Jim was talking about them and shot him a withering glance before biting into his hot dog. 

* * *

Blair handed Jim his last stack of reports. "Here," he said. "Done. And when did I become your secretary, anyway?" 

"You're not my secretary." 

"Then why do I always find myself filling out paperwork?" 

"Because you do it better and faster than I do, and that gets us out of here and back on the streets." 

"Yeah yeah yeah. You'd think you'd come up with a better story by now." He stood up and grabbed his jacket. 

"Don't need to," Jim replied. "Best excuse I've got. You heading out?" 

"Yeah. I'm gonna run by the office and pick up my mail. I'll see you back at the loft." 

Jim waited until five, then turned his computer off. He decided to make one last stop at the bathroom before heading for home. As he walked into the hall, he noticed Didion standing there, waiting for an elevator. Feeling the anger suddenly rise in him, Jim approached. Didion noticed him and smiled. "Oh, hey, Jim." He held out his hand, but Jim ignored it. 

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" 

"Sure." He followed Jim into a conference room. "What's up?" 

"I ran into Bass today." 

"And?" 

"That's a pretty ugly black eye he's got." 

Didion stared at him hard. "You think I did that, don't you?" 

"Did you?" 

Didion didn't answer him at first. Then he said, "If I tell you something, will you promise me it won't get back to Bass?" 

"Not until I hear what it is first." 

"Whatever," Didion replied in frustration. "When we were living in New York, Bass was attacked. He has a scar on his chest where one of the attackers tried to knife him. He was in the hospital for a week. I moved him to Santa Barbara, but for months he was too scared to leave the house. I finally couldn't stand the thought of him being scared, and I admit I was a little over-protective, too. So I started teaching him self-defense." Didion paused to watch Jim's reaction before continuing. "Now, Jim, I've never taught self-defense before. And I'll admit, it's mostly what I learned from the Rangers. Sometimes, and not very often, I'm not careful enough and I don't gauge what Bass is doing. A few days ago, I thought he was moving to block when he wasn't. I hit him by accident." 

Jim stared at him with his arms crossed. All during Didion's story, Jim measured his vitals. /You have to be the best damn liar I've ever met./ 

"You don't believe me, do you?" 

Jim just shrugged his shoulders. 

"I know Bass didn't tell you that's how he got hit. What story did he give you?" 

"Said he slipped on the wet floor by the pool." 

"Jim, did either of us show you the pool room downstairs?" 

"No." 

"The same rough slate floor that's upstairs is down there, too. It isn't slippery when it's wet. But there is self-defense equipment down there. You are more than welcome to come by at any time to see it. But don't tell Bass that I told you about New York. I don't know why, but he's embarrassed by it." 

"I won't say anything." 

Didion could see that Jim still didn't believe him. "Now," he began, "can I talk to you?" 

"Yes." 

"I don't know a lot of gay men like you. Especially someone close to my age who's practically had the same experiences as me. I put myself into the Rangers only to try and make my father proud of me. He wasn't. When I got out, I became a security consultant for the Olympics. By that time, my father died and left me a fortune, right when I met Bass. I've been spending my inheritance on him right and left and I love him. I look at you and Blair and I see that you guys have the same thing we do. I want us to be friends. I can only imagine what Collin's told you about me. He's never going to forgive me for what I did to him and Brian, and in a way, I don't blame him. But I want us to be friends. I've held out so many peace-offerings to you and all I get back is anger. What did I do to you? What can I do to make you stop hating me?" 

Jim looked away. 

"I don't beat Bass." He shifted his head to try to make eye contact. "I don't eat children. And on odd numbered days, I don't kick puppies." 

Jim smiled slightly. 

"Look, it's happy hour. I just talked Commissioner Anderson into loaning me some of her officers for a security detail during a charity dinner and I'm feeling good about myself. Let me buy you a beer." Jim shook his head, and Didion added, "Please? I thought a GI would put up with anything for a free beer." 

* * *

When Jim opened the door, Blair looked at the clock. Seven o'clock. "Did something happen at the station?" he asked as he stirred the tomato sauce. 

Jim stepped into the kitchen to give Blair a kiss. "No. I ran into Didion and we had a few beers at O'Malley's." 

Blair glared at him, then handed him the wooden spoon. "I forgot," he said coldly, "it's your turn to cook dinner." 

Jim grabbed Blair by the waist as he tried to walk away. "Not so fast. I thought you were the one who liked Didion." 

"Jim, why? Didn't you see that black eye he gave Bass?" 

"I confronted him on that. Turns out his story checks out." 

"Oh, come on!" 

"Hey. Didn't you call me a walking polygraph machine?" 

"Even lie detectors break down. Isn't that why they're inadmissable in court?" 

"Look," Jim began, "I'll admit something still strikes me as weird about those two, but maybe that's all it is. They're just plain weird." When that didn't make Blair any less agitated, Jim added, "Okay, look, the best thing we can do for Bass if he really is in an abusive relationship is get to know them better and get real proof." 

======== 

Sebastian groaned in frustration as he walked downstairs to the pool room. Didion had been swimming now for 45 minutes. The older man didn't seem to notice as Sebastian stripped off his clothes and stepped into the slightly-warmed water, but Didion stopped at the edge of the pool before swimming into his younger lover. Didion's hands gripped the edge of the pool as he gasped for breath, then he winced as his stomach cramped. "Damnit, Didion," Sebastian whispered as he grabbed his lover's shoulders to keep him from sinking. "The last thing I need is for you to drown." 

"Oh yeah," he huffed, "at least . . . at least . . . I don't slip on the . . . on the floor." 

Sebastian looked at him funny. "Did you hear me today?" 

"No. . . Jim . . . when he stopped me in the hall . . . damn near wanted to arrest me." 

"So you had drinks with him, instead?" 

Didion took one deep breath then exhaled, his muscles relaxing as he floated in Sebastian's arms. Gently, he traced the outline of his goatee. 

"Is that why you're down here, trying to drown yourself?" Sebastian asked. 

"I'm not trying to drown." 

"So what's going on here?" 

Didion toyed with the wet tips of Sebastian's hair. "And to think that I worried about *you* falling apart." 

"Is that what's happening? Are you falling apart?" 

"I'm . . . I'm okay. I just want this goddamn summit to take place so I can stop hurting them. I just have one more month to go." 

"So it's going to be here in Cascade?" 

"Oh, it was going to be Cascade all along. Why do you think the project sent me here? Commissioner Anderson slipped up today and told me which departments would be handling what." 

"And Jim?" 

"He doesn't know it yet, but he's guarding one of my hits." 

"One?" 

"I've got three hits, then we're out of here." 

* * *

"Hey, uh, Jimmy," Lee Whitmore whispered as he leaned close over Jim's desk. "I, uh, wonder if you could give me some advice." 

Jim raised one eyebrow. "Advice?" 

"Yeah. I'm looking for a good bar to go to." 

"You're asking me about a good bar?" 

"Yeah. I mean, I have a list of the bars around here, but I don't know what kind of clientele they have." 

"I'm sorry. You've lost me." 

"Well, you know," he looked around to see if anyone was close by to overhear, "I'm not into the leather scene, you know. And this urban-cowboy two-stepping thing, well, that ain't me, either." 

Jim stared at him with his mouth slightly open. "Excuse me?" 

"And I'm not into young party boys, you know?" 

"Uhm, is this research? Into the bombing, I mean?" 

Lee shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Well, I guess it could be." He punched Jim in the shoulder. "I mean, come on, man. What bar do you hang out at?" 

Jim quickly glanced around to see who else was nearby. Then he leaned closer, a little angry, "Are you asking me what gay bar I go to?" 

"Duh! Earth to Jimmy?" 

Jim grabbed at Lee's shirt, yanking him hard before he gained control of his temper. 

"Hey, what's up with you?" Lee whispered, smoothing out the wrinkles from his shirt. 

"Why do you think I'm gay?" Jim shot back. 

"Well, you are, aren't you? Aren't you and Blair together?" 

"Who told you?" 

"Nobody told me. It's just gaydar." 

Jim stormed away from the bullpen, not sure where he was heading. He was just heading out. /Are we that obvious? Are we that obvious? Does everyone know already?/ 

* * *

"What do you want for dinner?" Jim asked. 

Blair looked across the desk at him. "Let me guess. It's your night to cook and you want to go out?" 

"Name a restaurant, or it's Wonderburger for you." 

"Fine. Chinese. You pick the one for your budget." Then Blair thought about it. "Just don't make it the Pagoda down the street, okay?" 

"I thought you liked that place." 

Blair fidgeted for a second, then said, "It's just that . . . we're always walking back from there . . . when the dog . . ." 

"Maybe you're eating one of his relatives." Blair stared at him angrily and began to stand. Jim grabbed his wrist. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry." 

"It's not funny, Jim." 

"I'm sorry. I just thought . . . maybe if we laughed about it once--" 

"Well, you thought wrong." 

Jim turned away, stung. "I'm sorry." 

Blair sighed in frustration. "When did we start fighting?" 

"I didn't notice that we were." 

* * *

That night Jim took Blair to an expensive Chinese restaurant near the waterfront. He made sure that they were seated in a secluded location, and Jim made his affection obvious -- a hand on Blair's thigh, flirtatious attempts at feeding each other with chopsticks, frequent winks. When they returned to the loft, both men were in better moods. 

"It's hot in here," Blair complained as he sat down at the sofa. 

Jim looked at him funny. "You're hot?" 

"Yeah, I know. The apocalypse draws near." 

Even though he was a little cold himself, Jim checked the thermostat. It only confirmed his own sense of temperature. Jim touched Blair across the forehead. "Blair, you're burning up." 

"Jim, I don't feel so good." 

"Well, you ate like a--" He stopped when Blair dashed from the sofa and into the bathroom. "Blair?" He hurried after him. Blair sank to the floor and threw up into the toilet. Jim dropped down beside him to hold his hair back. 

Twenty minutes later, Blair was still heaving, but he had already emptied his stomach. His skin was cold and he was shaking. Jim didn't even ask permission as he scooped him up from the floor and carried him outside and into the truck. By the time they had reached Cascade General, Blair had fallen into convulsions. 

* * *

Simon walked down the sterile hospital hallway. After searching for a few minutes, he saw his detective sitting in a chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his face. "Hey, Jim. How is he?" When Jim didn't answer, Simon touched him on the shoulder. "Jim? Where's Blair?" 

Jim suddenly jerked, coming to himself. Simon could see the exhaustion on his face. "I . . . I don't know." 

"You don't know?! Jim, what the hell's wrong with you?" 

"I . . . the nurse . . . she said she'd come tell me what room they put him in." 

"What happened?" 

"I don't know. We were eating . . . and he got sick." 

"Was it something he fixed?" 

"No. We were at the Golden Buddha." 

"The Golden Buddha? Jim, that's a nice restaurant." 

"Yeah, I know." 

"So what happened." 

"I . . . I don't . . ." 

Simon left Jim and approached the nurses station. "Excuse me. Could you tell me about Blair Sandburg's condition?" 

The nurse looked at him with a sympathetic expression. "That poor guy." 

"What happened?" 

"E. Coli. Worst case I've ever seen. He's stable now, and we put him in his room about fifteen minutes ago. I tried to tell his roommate, but he didn't seem to hear me." 

"What room is he in?" 

"212." 

"Thank you." Simon returned to Jim. Without saying a word, he took Jim by the hand and led him into Blair's room. When Jim saw Blair, he crossed the room without Simon's help, pulled up a chair, took Blair's hand, then stared at him. An oxygen tube ran to Blair's nose, and an IV had been inserted into each arm to replenish his lost fluids. 

"Blair?" Jim asked, his voice hoarse. "Blair?" 

Simon stroked his friend's back. "He's asleep, Jim." 

"Blair?. . . Blair?" He kissed Blair's cold knuckles. "Blair? . . . Blair?" 

* * *

Simon wasn't sure what upset him more -- worrying about Sandburg or trying to work through Jim's shock. By morning, Jim's reactions had begun to change, and he hovered over Blair with the protective instinct that was more familiar to Simon. Even so, he watched Jim closely. The past few weeks had been rough for him personally, watching the other officers turn on his best friend and him not able to do anything about it. Truth is, he couldn't even find the slightest lead pointing to any officer and that frustrated him even more. Word that Jim and Blair were being harassed burned through the department. He got the same response from everyone -- a shake of the head, then a comment like, "Well, I don't feel this way, but I can see how some of us might take it the wrong way." That irked him a little, knowing that the people he worked with weren't prejudiced, but they expected their coworkers to be and so didn't make an issue of it. 

It seemed to batter Jim more than it did Blair. Blair had started to walk around looking beat, like he had lost his best friends, but he girded his loins and made the best of it. Jim grew more and more distant, and that frightened Simon. A distant Jim snapped a lot quicker, bit the heads off his coworkers more fiercely, and made life generally miserable. 

Dr. Everett came in that morning and peered down his glasses at Blair as he slept. Blair seemed to be responding to the treatments, but Dr. Everett still shook his head. "Never seen a case like this. Where'd it happen?" 

"Golden Buddha?" 

"No, couldn't have. My wife and I've been eating there for years." Jim shrugged his shoulders, and Dr. Everett added, "Oh well. There's been reports that food poisoning would be getting more and more serious. Just don't expect it to happen there, I guess." 

Simon leaned over. "Doc, no offense, but I've had my share of bad food before, but I've never wound up in the hospital, unconscious." 

Dr. Everett became serious as he looked over Blair's chart. "Captain, it may surprise you to know that there are around 9,000 fatalities each year in the U.S. alone due to food poisoning. It happens. Blair's very lucky, you know." 

"When will he wake up?" Jim asked. 

"I expect he'll be asleep for a few more hours. Why don't you get something to eat?" 

"You heard the doctor," Simon said, pulling Jim by the arm. "Let's get something to eat." 

* * *

Simon finished his scrambled eggs, then glanced over at Jim. "Jim, is everything okay with you?" 

Only Jim's eyes moved as he looked up. /Should I bother hiding it?/ He waited a moment, trying to answer himself. 

"Are you getting any more shit?" Simon asked. 

"We're still getting threats." 

Simon's temper flared. "And you didn't tell me?!" Jim rolled his head back with a sigh. "What kind of threats?" 

"We keep getting these . . . circles." 

"Circles?" 

"Pieces of cloth. Red velvet. And they're soaked in herbs to keep me from smelling anything." 

"Holy shit, Jim, does someone else know about this sentinel stuff." 

"No. Just you, Blair . . . and Ian." 

"You don't think Ian's doing this?" 

"No, now why would he? He's with Collin. And *how* could he? I've never once seen him in the station. Except for that time we thought he was Weird Em." 

"He could get into the station, Jim." 

"But could he get into my truck?" 

"Someone did something to your truck?" 

"Yeah, they put a little red circle on the seat right where Blair's heart would be." 

"What do these circles mean?" 

"There's always a note. Simon, someone is out for him. This isn't a game. This is serious." 

"And you kept this from me?! How could you . . . how could you be so stupid?!" 

"I don't . . . I don't know." 

Discouraged, Simon huffed with impatience. "Do you think it's someone on the force?" 

"I guess . . . who else would it be?" 

"No wonder you were in shock when Sandburg got sick." 

"Simon, I've been worried non-stop for weeks now. I just keep expecting something to happen to him, like getting shot. I never thought something else would happen to him like getting sick." 

"Well, he's okay, Jim. Everything's going to be all right. And as far as I'm concerned, your harassment case just got bumped up on my things-to-do list." 

* * *

Jim strolled back to Blair's room, staring into the coffee cup he carried. Something about the white circle reflected on the black coffee's surface relaxed him. He pushed open Blair's door, then dropped the coffee. It splashed on his thighs, but Jim didn't notice it. His vision blurred slightly, and he couldn't catch his breath, so frightened that he couldn't speak. 

Blair lay asleep innocently in his bed. 

Red velvet circles coated his body like a parody of measles. 

Jim came closer, his face twisting to hold back the impulse to just cry. The weeks of worry, the fear -- and now losing the vain hope that Blair's sickness could have been a coincidence -- broke his spirit and he had to blink back the wetness that clouded his sight. With tightened chin, he began to pluck off the red circles, gently placing them in the palm of his hand. They smelled strongly of basil. 

A single strip of paper lay across Blair's sleeping chest. 

MUST HAVE BEEN SOMETHING HE ATE 

* * *

An hour after the circles were gone, Jim sat in the chair beside Blair's bed, his mind adrift. 

/Somebody poisoned Blair. Someone wanted him to die. Someone wanted to kill him. And I can't stop them. I can't even fucking find them. And they want to kill him just because he's with me. Because he's with *me*. What am I . . . what am I supposed to do?/ 

/I have to protect Blair. He relies on me to do that. I have to protect him./ 

He looked over at Blair, still asleep. 

/I love him. I would die for him./ 

/Would you sacrifice yourself for him?/ 

/Yes. I would die for him./ 

/Would you hurt yourself for him?/ 

/Yes./ 

/Would you hurt Blair?/ 

/Never./ 

/Would you hurt him to keep him alive? . . . Would you make him leave . . . to save his life?/ Jim sucked in a ragged breath, and the tears filled his eyes again as his heart answered, /yes/. 

* * *

Blair woke up. His stomach muscles hurt, but he wasn't throwing up anymore. Looking around, he realized he was in the hospital. /Again./ Blair tried to sit up, but he was too weak. Instead he glanced around at the room, trying to see if Jim were there, when he noticed Jim's leather jacket lying across the back of the chair. Just seeing that, that he had been there, made Blair relax some. 

As Blair yawned and re-adjusted the blankets to get comfortable, something caught his eye. His heart started to race when he recognized the bright red circle of cloth. He threw back the sheets and saw three more, along with a small folded note. Blair opened it. 

TASTE LIKE CHICKEN? 

He reached for the plastic bowl beside the bed and threw up again. 

* * *

Later that afternoon, Blair thumbed through a magazine Jim had picked up for him in the gift shop. Dr. Everett had said he could go home the next morning, and Jim had just left to bring him back a change of clothes. He heard a polite knock on the door and shouted, "Come in!" 

Blair looked up. There stood Ian in his white lab coat, hands on his hips, smiling. "When I saw your name on the admittance list, I didn't believe it." He sat down beside him. "So how are you feeling?" 

"Pretty wasted." 

"I imagine so. I would have never thought anyone would get sick at the Golden Buddha. Still, they say you can't be too bloody careful these days." 

Blair just shrugged his shoulders. They passed small talk back and forth. When Blair asked how he and Collin were doing, Ian grew quiet. "We're fine, I suppose." 

"Doesn't sound like you're so sure." 

Ian remained quiet for a few moments before saying in a rush, "Blair, I don't know if I should be asking this or not. But has Collin ever told you anything about what happened to him in Atlanta?" 

"No," he said with a sympathetic frown. 

"He won't tell me either. And I feel too uncomfortable to pry. I don't want to force him." 

"I know it has something to do with Didion and Bass, though." 

"Yeah. I gathered that. Didion's been very friendly to me. We've had lunch a few times. There's something about that man that's familiar, but I just can't place his face." 

"Do you think you've met him before?" 

"Who knows." Then he added with a sly smile, "All you westerners look the same to me." 

Blair slapped him lightly on the arm. "You have been with Collin too long." 

"Collin worries me, though. He really hates Didion. And he has a burn scar on his back. Has he ever shown it to you?" 

"No. I've never seen it. Did he tell you where it's from." 

"No." 

"Have you looked on his medical records?" 

"Blair, I may be a doctor, but I can't go rummaging through people's medical histories without their consent." 

"Oh. I guess you have a point there." 

Then Ian hung his head guiltily. "Oh, forget it. I've already looked." 

"And." 

"The files we have here only go back to last year." 

"Well, I guess we both have to wait until he feels comfortable telling us." 

* * *

Jim took Blair home, and for the next several days, made sure Blair stayed at home resting. But Blair wasn't interested in resting. Jim's behavior was beginning to worry him. He seemed more withdrawn and unhappy. At night, he rarely spoke, and whenever Blair woke up in the middle of the night, Jim would be either turned with his back to him or downstairs on the sofa. Finally, Blair canceled his first day back at the university to ride with Jim all day. Jim seemed upset at first, almost angry, but then he just as mysteriously became distant. 

When they got back to the loft, Blair confronted him. "All right, Jim. What is it?" 

"Nothing," he said as he walked into the kitchen. For some reason, he smelled lemon. He reached for a pot and asked, "What do you want for dinner?" 

"How about some answers?" 

"Blair, I don't feel like playing this game." The lemon smell was stronger coming from the hallway leading to the bathroom. He glanced over at Blair's old room. He had turned it into a study, and usually the glass french doors were opened. Tonight they had been closed shut. Jim looked closely at them, and he suddenly dropped the pot on the floor. 

There was a small red velvet circle glued to one of the window panes. 

Jim's heartbeat raced as he stepped closer. He timidly reached out to touch the velvet, almost afraid it would burn him. The strong scent of lemon balm rose from it. Jim stumbled back from the french door, unable to take his eyes from the red circle pasted to the glass, aiming straight for Blair's head if he were sitting at his desk. The scent of lemon balm sickened him. In a daze, Jim backed away from the red thing that horrified him, not even hearing Blair as he bumped into his guide roughly. Spinning around, he tried to avoid Blair, ramming his hip into the side of the table. 

Blair saw the red circle and his heart skipped. /Oh my god, someone was in here./ 

Jim clutched at his head. He moved around the sofa and looked towards the window. When he did, he moaned slightly. 

There, on one of the glass panes of the balcony window, was a second dot of velvet. Jim approached it, drawn and mesmerized. Only then did he notice the small wooden stakes Blair had made to mark the herbs in the terra cotta pots on the balcony. 

Rosemary. Mint. Basil. Lemon Balm. 

And the note, taped to one of the pots. 

LAST WARNING 

"No!" 

"Jim, calm down!" 

"No! No!" 

Blair saw the second circle, and he could tell it lined up with the first like the path of a bullet. Then he noticed the beige strip and black letters. "Jim, someone was in here." He looked at the wooden stakes, and he made the connection. "The herbs. . . . Oh my god, Jim, they've been getting in here all along." But Jim didn't hear him. He was fighting his own demons as he staggered around the loft. It only made Blair more nervous. "Jim, talk to me." 

"I . . . I can't . . ." 

"Jim, don't--" 

"I can't--" 

"Jim, don't you dare--" 

"Blair!" he cried, more to himself. 

"Don't you fucking dare! Do you hear me? Don't you fucking--." 

"I can't take this any more!" 

Blair sucked in his breath like he had been slapped. "Just calm down, all right? Take a deep breath and think about what you're saying." 

"I can't take this! I can't protect you! I can't protect you from this . . . from this . . ." 

"Jim, we can survive this!" 

"How, Blair?! How the hell can I protect you? That food poisoning, that was no accident." 

Blair blinked at him, then looked at the floor. "I know. I found some of the red circles, under the sheets." 

"Someone is trying to kill you! Because you're with me!" 

"Jim, you protect me." 

"Not anymore! Now I'm endangering you! I'm . . . I'm the one putting you in danger. I can't do this anymore. I can't take it!" 

"Well, I have a right to make my own choices and--" 

"And I have an obligation to protect you, the best way I can see fit." 

"What are you saying?!" 

Jim circled the loft like a cornered animal, his hands running through his hair. /You have to do this, Jim./ "I think--" 

"Jim, I mean it. Don't you even say it." 

/Last warning. This is the last warning. You have to do this now./ Jim took one decisive, deep breath, lifted his chin, then turned off his heart. "I think . . . I think you should . . . leave." 

The words punched Blair in the stomach. "Jim?" 

"I think . . ." It hurt so much to say it. "I think you should leave." 

"You can't . . ." Blair's voice had suddenly become so small. "You can't do this to me." 

"I have to . . . I have to make a decision. I have to make a choice. I have to choose your life. I have to make sure you live. I have to--" 

"Well, that's just fucking great! Don't I get a say in this?" 

"What is there left to say, huh? There's someone out there who can walk into a police station undetected, who can walk into a crowded restaurant and poison you. I can't fight this! What--what's left to say?" 

He whispered, "How about, I love you?" 

Jim turned his back on Blair, focused on the unforgiving patterns of brick and mortar to keep from crying, then said. "I love you enough to do this." 

Blair felt the tears burn the edges of his eyelids. He angrily wiped his eyes dry. "Don't you do this to me!" 

Jim walked clumsily toward the door, grabbing his coat. 

"Where are you going?" 

He straighten his back as he zipped his coat. "I can't . . . take this. I can't be here when you leave." 

"Well, I'm not leaving." 

"Please, Blair." 

"I'm not leaving. You may think you can just quit on me, but I'm not. I'm not leaving." 

"Fine. I'll move into a hotel." 

Blair stared at him with his mouth open. "You would . . . do that? You would just walk out on me?" 

Jim faced the door, then made himself touch the doorknob. He had already ripped Blair away, and the emptiness in his chest ached. His throat hurt from clenching too tight. "I . . . I have to go, Blair. I'm . . . I'm sorry." The last words came out with a sob. Suddenly, the door opened and Jim bolted out. 

Blair couldn't believe this had just happened -- and so quickly. Jim had just left him. Jim had just pushed him away. Unable to breathe, Blair collapsed on the floor, too shocked to even cry. 

* * *

Collin lifted one eyebrow when he heard the knock at the door. He had just hung up on Ian not more than a few minutes ago. /Who the hell is this?/ As he walked towards the door, he said out loud, "You had better not be trying to sell me a newspaper at this hour!" Collin looked into the peephole in the door, then immediately opened it. 

Blair stood there, a poorly suppressed frown on his face. Collin noticed the backpack, slightly opened and stuffed with clothes. "Oh, Blair." 

"I hope I'm not bothering you." 

"Come in," Collin whispered with his arm around Blair's shoulder. "What's wrong?" 

"Jim and I had a fight . . . Can I crash on your couch?" 

"My bum of an ex-roommate left me his bed instead of paying for his share of last month's rent. You can sleep in his room." Collin took Blair's backpack from him and tossed it in the other bedroom. When he returned, Blair had collapsed on the sofa. "What do you need to drink? Tea? Coffee? Beer? Something stronger?" 

"No thanks." 

"Want to talk about it?" When Blair didn't say anything, Collin added, "You guys didn't break up, did you?" 

"No. Yes. Hell, I don't know." 

"What's going on?" Collin sat down beside him. 

"Jim's just over-reacting." 

"About what?" 

Blair rubbed his face before answering. "Somebody at the station found out about us, and we've been getting harassed. Jim's just freaked 'cause he thinks I'll get hurt." 

"Oh, Blair, I'm sorry. How bad is it?" 

"Bad, I guess. Somebody's going around, threatening to kill me if Jim and I don't break up." 

"Blair, that's awful." 

"But it's just threats. Or . . . it was." 

"What do you mean." 

"Well, you remember when I got sick?" 

"From the restaurant?" 

"Yeah, well, these guys took credit for it." 

"Took credit? How?" 

"Whoever's doing this, every time they make a threat, they use these little red circles, cut from velvet--" 

Collin's eyes grew wide, but Blair didn't notice. 

"--and they leave a short note. When I woke up in the hospital, I found some of the circles in my bed. And there was another note. Then, when we got home tonight, we found two more circles, lined up like someone was trying to take a shot at me." 

Collin stared silently at his shoes. 

"I know Jim loves me. He's just freaked out right now. I'm going to give him some space for a few days. Let him calm down. You don't mind if I chill out here, do you? . . . . Collin?" 

Collin snapped his head suddenly. "I'm sorry. Of course you can." 

"Is something wrong?" 

"I just remembered something," he said as he stood up. "I'll be right back." 

"Where are you going?" 

"I need to pick us up something from the store." Then he darted out the door without his jacket. 

* * *

When Didion opened the front door, he was taken by surprise. "Collin?" 

"Is Bass at home?" 

"Yes," he stepped aside, motioning for him to come in. "He's in the library. Down the hall and--" 

"I know where it is," Collin barked with a wave of his hand. Didion decided not to fight it but just watched Collin slip down the hall. He debated on eavesdropping. 

Collin entered the library and saw his cousin reading in a wing chair, one leg thrown casually over the chair arm. "Bass?" 

Sebastian jerked slightly. "Collin?" He pulled his glasses off and stood. "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm here to talk. And not this fake pleasantries crap we've been tossing back and forth between each other since you got here. It's time we really talked." 

"Oh," Sebastian said with wide eyebrows, "sure, I guess." 

"What the hell are you doing in Cascade?" 

Then Sebastian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What do you mean?" 

"You know what the fuck I mean. What are you doing to Blair and Jim?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." He approached closer, and Collin didn't notice the threat. 

"Need I refresh your memory?" 

"Is yours finally working?" 

"No thanks to you and Didion, I finally got it working again." 

"I didn't do that to you, Collin." 

"Yeah, right." 

"Collin, that was a long time ago, and I only feel responsible for it in the fact that I fell in love with Didion afterwards. I didn't cause you to break up with Brian, and I didn't cause what happened." 

"Oh, I'm not here to hash out my past, Bass. I'm here to cut through the bullshit. I'm seeing a pattern here and I don't like it. You and Didion waltz into Cascade and suddenly the city's most decorated detective is having a personal crisis that could possible keep him from doing his job? Sounds a lot like what Brian and I went through in Atlanta." 

"Brian was not the most decorated cop in Atlanta." 

"No, but the man he went and fucked after we broke up was." 

"This is ridiculous," Sebastian tried to turn the conversation. 

"Jim kicked Blair out tonight." 

"He what?" 

"Don't sound so surprised." 

"Surely you don't think I had something to do with it?" 

"Blair says that he and Jim have been receiving threatening notes. With little red circles of velvet. My, but doesn't that sound fucking familiar?" 

Sebastian came closer. "Cut to the chase." 

Collin was taken aback for a second. "Excuse me?" 

"I'm no longer discussing this with you. Name terms." 

"Terms, huh? Okay, terms are this. Lay off Blair and Jim. Stop interfering in their lives and--" 

Sebastian surged forward, his face burning with range. With a swift move, he pinned Collin against the wall with his forearm crushing his throat. Collin coughed for breath and Sebastian hissed, "No dice." They stared at each other, and Sebastian added, "You are so out of your league right now. You fucked up your life in Atlanta by getting involved. If you had just let Didion do his job, Brian would have come back to you. If you even wanted him. I distinctly remember you sitting in my apartment for over a year moaning and complaining about how unhappy your life was with Brian that I thought Didion was doing you a favor. Then you had to go and get involved and you fucked up everything, most of all your own life. Now I'm here to tell you this. I'm involved with Didion now. What he's doing, I'm doing." 

"You bastard!" 

"Don't stand and judge me. I'm in love with a man who's under a death warrant, and I will do what it takes to keep him alive. Now, you listen to me, cousin. *You* stay out of Jim and Blair's lives. Don't get involved. When this is over, we slip away, and Jim and Blair can go on with their lives unharmed. But I promise you that if you get involved, Atlanta will replay itself out and it won't be pretty. Capiche?" 

Collin pushed him off. "No." 

"You stay out of this, and Jim and Blair live. You get involved, they die. I'm not joking." 

"How could you?" 

"This is not a game, Collin. This is serious. Not only will Jim and Blair die, but I will as well. Do you understand?" 

"You?" 

"Yes, me. I'm fighting for my life here, and I'm not going to let something like your notions of morality stand between me and survival." 

Collin became nervous, "Didion would kill you?" 

"Didion would give his life for me, and knowing how much you hate Didion, why would I tell you that he would be killed as well? That would just make you want to kill all of us, to get your revenge on him." 

"What has happened to you?" 

"A lot, Collin. More than you'll ever know. Now," he held back his hands, "enough of this anger. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. But I mean it, Collin. We're desperate right now. We're in a lot of danger, and we cannot afford a distraction. Please, I promise you, that once this is over, Jim and Blair will return to having a normal life. In all honesty, we like Jim and Blair a great deal, and we'll do our best to see to it that no harm comes to them. But if we fuck up, another agent will be sent in to clean it up who won't be so understanding. As it stands, the only reason Didion and I are even on this assignment is because you and I are cousins." 

Collin stared at him silently, then said, "I'll think about it." 

"Something else for you to think about on your way out," Sebastian began. "That night in Atlanta, in the fire," he leaned in close, "it was Didion who pulled you out of it, not Brian." 

"Impossible." 

"He has the burn scars to prove it." 

"I don't believe you." 

"Then ask him." 

"I wouldn't believe him." 

"Then ask him to show you the scars." 

Collin hurried from the library, his arms crossed at his chest. At the front door, he turned to look up at the staircase and saw Didion staring down at him, his chin jutting forward. Collin opened the door and escaped. 

From the top of the stairs, Didion's eyes glinted with rage. 

* * *

After Collin had left, Blair paced around the apartment. /Jim's just a little freaked, that's all,/ he kept telling himself. /He's just scared. He doesn't mean it. He doesn't want to kick you out. He doesn't want to break up. He's just scared, that's all. He's just scared./ When his skin tingled and his head started to spin, Blair realized he had been hyperventilating. He collapsed onto the worn sofa and pulled a pillow to his chest. /He's just scared. He's just scared./ 

When he had calmed down, he noticed the phone sitting on the coffee table. Blair picked it up, listening to the dial tone, soft and even like a Hindi ohm, clearing his mind and setting him at ease, until the frenetic panic of the warning tone startled him. He set the phone back in its cradle and took a deep breath. /I need to call him./ 

Three tries later with no answer at the loft, Blair thought about giving up. Then he tried Jim's cell phone number. 

"Ellison." 

"Jim, it's me." 

Jim didn't say anything, but he didn't hang up either. Over the line, Blair could hear the hum of truck motor. Jim was still driving around. 

"Come on, man. Talk to me." 

"There's . . . there's nothing left to say, Blair." 

"Jim, I know you're scared. I know, man. But come on, don't do this. Not to us, man. You don't," Blair caught his breath, and his voice came back strained. "You don't know how much this hurts, man." 

Again, Jim was silent, but Blair waited him out. Finally, Jim said, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't!--" Blair stopped himself from getting angry, then tried in a softer tone, "Don't give up on us just like that. I'm . . . I'm in love with you. Doesn't that mean something?" When Jim didn't answer, Blair added, "I know you love me, Jim. I know it." 

"Blair, someone is out to hurt you, as long as we're together." 

"So? Jim, I thought we had made a commitment to each other, just in case times got tough. Don't freak out now because some assholes want to scare us." 

"Blair, this is not a game. Whoever is doing this can sneak in and out without me even noticing it. How can I protect you against this?" 

"You told me once you thought it was Vice. You told me you thought it was them because they were the only cops who would have that kind of experience. Do you still think that?" 

"I . . . I guess." 

"Well, guess what, Jim, Vice cops are human beings, too. If you know it's them, then you can do something." 

"Blair--" Jim stopped himself, and Blair waited for him to speak. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." 

"Why? Why, Jim? This is us we're talking about." 

"Blair, I made a promise to myself that I would make any sacrifice necessary to keep you safe." 

"So now I'm safe, huh? Sitting here out in the fucking open without anyone to watch over me?" Blair could hear Jim exhale in frustration, and he pressed on. "It's just like in the dreams, man. Nothing happens to me until you run away. Then I get hurt." 

"Blair, the others are . . . angry that we're together. As long as I play by their rules, as long as we aren't together, they aren't going to go after you. This isn't about your dreams. It's about cops. It's about the brotherhood." 

"Is that how it worked for Tom?" Blair asked, his voice mean. On the other end, he could practically hear Jim wince at his words and the thought of the other man he had hurt years ago when the Army frightened him into making this same choice. 

"Tom lived," Jim forced himself to say. "He lived, Blair. I want *you* to live. I love you, Blair." Sitting on the sofa in the quiet apartment, Blair couldn't see the tears that had begun to stream down Jim's face. "I . . . I want to know that you still breathe. That you still walk. That people can still know you. And not in a box, Blair. I want . . . I want to know that I can bump into you, on a street, and hear that laugh of yours that just makes me feel good all over, if . . . only for a minute before . . . before you walk away again. But if there ever comes a day when I realize that I'll *never* see you again, I . . . I . . . I have to know that you *live* Blair. I'll always love you, Blair. I'll always love you." 

"Jim, please--" Suddenly Blair heard the cold dial tone, and he dropped the phone. He covered his eyes and started to cry. 

* * *

Driving back, Collin tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. /This is not good. I can not sit here and let this happen again. I have got to do something./ He gripped the steering wheel in frustration. /But what? What?/ 

* * *

The next morning Jim sat down at his desk with his cup of coffee. He didn't sleep at all that night but instead stared at the ceiling, feeling the emptiness from Blair's side of the bed weigh down on his conscience. Now, he felt a little shaky from having had no sleep, and the caffeine only added to his jittery nerves. As he sipped, he overhead the voices in the hall. 

"Hey, Hairboy!" Rafe said, "Good to see you this morning! Jim just said you wouldn't be in." 

"I'm sure he did." Blair walked into the bullpen and glared at Jim. He didn't say a thing as he threw his backpack into the chair he normally sat in, opened it, then pulled out his notebook. 

"What are you doing here?" Jim asked angrily. 

"What the hell does it look like? I'm doing my job." 

Jim sprang from his chair, grabbing Blair by the arm and dragging him into Simon's empty office. He slammed the door and shouted, "Just what do you think you're doing?" 

Blair shoved him hard, "Don't touch me! I'm here to do my job!" 

"I thought I told you--" 

"No!" Blair yelled. "You shut up and listen! You can totally fuck up my personal life if you want to. That I can handle. My personal life has been fucked up since I was born and I can guarantee I can handle that a hell of a lot better than you can." He gauged Jim's shocked expression then carried on. "But there's one thing that I won't let you or anyone interfere with and that's my career. I've worked too damn hard making a place for myself in this station to let someone like you come along and take that away from me. So back off, man!" 

"Blair, this is not about a career. This is about your life. Someone wants to kill you." 

"So like what else is new?" Blair threw up his hands. 

"This isn't a joke!" 

"Yeah, well I'm not laughing. Not hardly. So you don't love me enough to fight by my side? Fine!" Jim flinched at Blair's words, and Blair continued, "But the truth is I'm still your guide. I've made promises to people like Incacha and Simon to protect you. I have an obligation to this department, now. And to top it all off, there is like no way I'm going to be able to write a dissertation about you. It was bad enough that we were living together, and even worse when we started sleeping together." Blair's eyes narrowed with heat, "But now I'm so fucking disgusted with you that I can barely think straight, let alone be objective. So I'm going to have to start my fucking dissertation all over again, and this time take up that stupid 'closed society' thesis I've been faking for so long." 

Jim's jaw clenched. /Disgusted?/ 

The door opened, startling them both. Simon looked at them with his eyebrows arched. "Can I have my office back? Or do I need to wait?" he asked in a sarcastic tone. 

"I'll start filing the paperwork for the Martin case," Blair said harshly, moving around Simon and not looking at either of them. 

Simon pushed his hand against Jim's chest, forcing him back into his office as he closed the door. "Mind telling me what's going on?" 

"Nothing, sir." 

"Nothing my ass. Office or no office, we could hear every word Sandburg said. Now, I know *I've* never seen that kid so angry that I could hear him out in the bullpen." 

"It's personal, sir." 

"When my best unit is at each other's throats, then it becomes my business. Understand?" 

Jim exhaled, his frustration evident in his strained neck muscles. "I will handle this." He tried to leave, but Simon shoved him back. 

"Get this through your thick skull, detective. Sandburg stays. Got it?" 

Jim squeezed his eyes tight, then his voice came out weak. "Simon, we separated." 

Simon sighed. "I was afraid of that." Then he eyed Jim. "So, who's living where?" 

"Blair's living with a friend." 

"You kicked him out?" 

Jim rolled his eyes. He did not want to have this conversation with Simon. 

"You kicked him out, and he came in to work the next day?" Simon smiled. "Just when I thought Sandburg couldn't earn any more respect from me, he goes and pulls a stunt like this." 

"A stunt? A stunt? Simon, someone wants to kill him! Someone that I can't even track or protect him from or . . . or . . ." 

"Yeah. And I see one scared man, and one brave one." 

Jim jerked back with the insult. He pushed Simon out of the way and said, "I'll be at my desk if you need me, *sir*." 

* * *

Jim stood in front of his loft door, keys in his hand. Blair had left the station after lunch. It was still early in the afternoon, but Jim couldn't stand looking at the empty chair beside his desk. He told Henri he was going to interview another of Lee's witnesses and slipped out. Now, he stood in front of his home. *His* home. Blair was not on the other side of the door. Tonight would be the second night he would sleep alone. Tonight, he would sit on the sofa with only the sounds of the television set to comfort him. As it had been before Blair moved in. As it had been after Carolyn left. As it had been before there was even a Carolyn. Just Jim. Alone. For as many nights as he could imagine. He sniffed slightly, then unlocked the door. 

Before he had even closed it, he saw the object lying on the floor. It was a ceramic dog bowl with the word SPOT painted on it. Inside the bowl was a rubber bone with a note attached by a string. Jim picked up the bone and read the note. 

GOOD BOY 

He shouted as he pitched the bone into the corner. His anger exploded, and he grabbed the bowl, flinging it against the wall. When it didn't break, Jim ran to it, picked it up again and hurled it once more from close quarters. Shards of broken bowl hit him in the face, but he didn't care. Jim grabbed a chair, a deep-throated growl hurting his vocal chords as he tossed the chair over the sofa. Cushions followed, spinning around the room. Anything within reach, Jim picked it up, smashing what would break, pounding what wouldn't. Pots came crashing to the floor. He snatched open the drawers in the kitchen, dumping the silverware into clanging piles, constantly screaming and shouting and breathing faster and faster until he collapsed onto his knees, trying to catch his breath between sobs that twisted his lungs. Slowly, his back curved, forcing his face into the floor as he wept and wept and wept. 

* * *

Blair sat down at his desk in his office, then turned on his laptop. While it was booting up, he placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. The office felt uncomfortable. In fact, most places felt uncomfortable now, because every time he walked into a room, the same thought came into his mind, /This is the first time you've been here since Jim kicked you out./ And now, he was in this office for the first time, and for the first time today, he was completely alone. No Collin. No police. No students. Just himself, alone. And the first thought that came to his mind was the memory of Jim holding him tight while they slept together. For so long he had been cold, and Jim was so warm to sleep with. And unlike anyone else he had ever been with, Jim was so physical, hungry for touch and contact. He let Blair hold him, and when Blair would roll over onto his side, Jim would roll with him, always together. 

Last night Blair couldn't sleep for thinking about Jim. He couldn't believe that Jim would follow through with it and make him stay away. Blair was so certain he would reconsider after he had slept on it. This morning at the station proved Blair wrong. He was wrong. Jim meant for him to leave. To go away. To stay away. And tonight, he would sleep alone, and tomorrow and tomorrow. /I'm . . . alone./ 

Blair pushed the laptop back and rested his head on his desk. The emptiness struck him like a wave and he couldn't resist sinking into depression. His whole body felt numb and cold. 

He sat like this for several minutes, trying not to cry, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his head, then sprang back from the desk. Someone had changed his screen saver. Now it was a standard marquee message scrolling across a purple screen. Yellow letters spelled out a simple message. 

divide et impera . . . divide et impera . . . divide et impera . . . 

Blair stared blankly at the screen, letting the message sink in. /Divide and rule./ 

* * *

/Divide and rule. Divide and rule./ Blair let the words repeat in his mind as he drove to the loft. /What the hell?/ The meaning confused him. He could easily see the divide and conquer part, but what he couldn't understand was a motive. /Why would they want me to know this? Is it a warning? Or is it a threat? This just doesn't make any sense./ 

Once at the loft, Blair unlocked the door, hoping that Jim wasn't home. He had seen the truck outside, but he had hoped that because it was still early, Jim would be at the station. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to be calm and controlled, just in case Jim was there. /I can do this. I can face him if I have to./ He needed to get more clothes, enough to last until Jim could come to his senses. /I have to face him every day now, so why should now be any different?/ 

His mind went blank when he opened the door and saw all the silverware scattered across the hardwood floor. He noticed the chairs overturned. The sofa stripped of its cushions. The bits of broken glass and pottery. Then he saw the blinding white of some object in the far corner. He stepped over the mess and picked it up. It was a rubber bone with a tag dangling on a string. Blair read the note, then squeezed his eyes tight. 

A cold draft made him shiver. Blair turned around and noticed the balcony door open. He came closer, and he saw Jim's form huddled into the corner. Blair started to say something, but he stopped when he realized he didn't quite know what to say. Jim looked up at him, and Blair saw the red eyes and cheeks where he had been crying. They stared at each other. Then for some reason, Blair realized Jim was the one who smashed the apartment. And that he had been crying because he was hurting. 

Blair turned around and headed for the upstairs bedroom. /He loves you, Blair. He loves you./ Blair opened up the dresser and pulled out a pile of flannel shirts. /He loves you,/ he said again as he stuffed the shirts in his duffel bag. /He's not doing this to hurt you./ This made Blair catch his breath, and he dropped the duffel bag on the bed. He took another breath, wiped his face with his hand, and said it again, /He's freaking out. He's scared shitless. He's not doing this to hurt you. He just wants to protect you. As soon as he realizes that you're safe, he'll come back to you. Jim will come back to you./ 

He climbed down the stairs and looked through the windows where Jim sat, still slumped on the balcony floor with his face in his hands. He considered going outside, and he felt his heart pulling him, to go outside and comfort this man he loved. But his own soul still felt sore and bruised. 

He stood at the door, paused with his hand on the doorknob, then frowned slightly. /Be strong./ It took all of his courage to say out loud, so that Jim could hear him. 

"I'm not giving up on us, Jim. I'm not." 

Then he closed the door behind him, leaving Jim alone in the loft. 

* * *

End Time Does Not Bring Relief.


End file.
